


ALL THE GOOD MEN

by notbad



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 1990s, Addiction, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Nevada USA, Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, Blow Jobs, Bottom Eren Yeager, Bullying, Coming of Age Movie Bullshit, Dark, Eren is Over 18, Hand Jobs, High School, Isabel Magnolia and Eren Yeager are Related, Levi Being Questionable, Levi Giving Eren The Sweet Praise He Deserves, Long-Haired Eren Yeager, M/M, Marlowe Freudenberg/Eren Yeager, Mentor/Protégé, Mild manga spoilers, Mutual Pining, Original Character/Eren Yeager - Freeform, Past Reiner Braun/Eren Yeager, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Timeskip Apperances, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Super Minor Levi/Original Character, Teacher-Student Relationship, Thriller, Top Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26556079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notbad/pseuds/notbad
Summary: MISSING: DAVID XXXX;  AGE 18…PLEASE CALL (XXX) - XXX - XXXTHREE STUDENTS FOUND IN TRUNK OF CAR…ALIVE…SEVERELY INJUREDHELL, Nevada., Senior year, 1995—Things get fucking weird. Crossed out bullseyes start showing up on the worst of the worst of students. The next day, they’re found beat up, or missing.Eren’s the only one who notices what the connection is: Mr. Ackerman, the new substitute teacher. He offers Eren a way to take his anger, his boredom, the utter contempt he feels towards the assholes who beat up him and his friends.And Eren goes down a path he cannot go back on.Inspired by Isayama’s American High school AU, and ‘Goodbye, Mr. Adams’
Relationships: Eren Yeager & Annie Leonhart & Falco Grice, Isabel Magnolia & Eren Yeager, Levi/Eren Yeager, riren, rivaere
Comments: 44
Kudos: 109





	1. LIMINAL SPACES

**Author's Note:**

> [PLAYLIST](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5J9iQXPVy6I4CN9MAlEuJ6?si=syLuvsSzQPuV612Vs9PAuQ) -[ MOODBOARD](https://www.pinterest.com/bloodlied/all-the-good-men/)
> 
>   
> This fic is heavily based off of [this](https://open.spotify.com/episode/0UmI3WCitlt8o41muk8CZO?si=hczJTLrRR6CtVRPoizH75g) podcast episode. That episode has a lot of spoilers for this fic. Just keep that in mind if you decide to listen to it. But this does not have one of bigger plot twists in the story. If you listen to it you'll know what I mean. It's near the end of the episode. As dark as this fic is, adding it in would have some implications regarding Levi and Eren's relationship and I'm not going in that direction; it's not something I'd be comfortable writing.
> 
> On that note, please read the tags and be aware of the heavy themes this fic has! I would like to clarify that while Levi has some very questionable behaviors in this, he does not harm Eren. And regarding the side relationships in this fic: For Eren they will be heavily present, to the point that they're will be smut between him and other men. Levi will always be the only romantic interest for him. I will warn you in each chapter for what pairings it will contain.
> 
> I use a mixture of Canon and original characters; canon characters being mostly new characters, some of which are manga only. Mikasa, Armin, Jean, and most of the 104th squad will not be present. Really sorry if you're a fan of those characters, but I have read too many fics with them. I wanted a change of pace and a challenge. I know not everyone is a fan of original characters having a huge presence in fics, but I promise there is a reason why I choose them instead of other characters for some roles in this story.
> 
> ◎
> 
> Lastly, big thanks to Lou, who has been both a great friend and beta in these trying times. All descriptions of Levi's muscles are dedicated to her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Other Pairings: Mild Oc/Eren**   
>  **Warnings: Smoking, Homophobia, Drugs, Bullying**

### SEPTEMBER

Nolan’s arm hung out of the window of his ‘69 Chevrolet Camaro, sun-tanned fingers curled around a cigarette, only bringing his arm in to put it around his lips and take a puff. Leaning back in the seat, inhaling, smoke coming through his nose, he was busy trying to get a peek through the window of Hitch Dreyse’s curtain while she changed. They were school’s favorite on-again off-again pair. The dipshit and his pushed back brown hair were probably waiting to pick her up. He’s usually not here for another half hour. His schedule is ingrained in my mind.

Right about now, he’d usually still be in his house doing god knows what. Jerking off. Lifting weights. Staring at the wall. Or something weird that makes him seem like a bad 80’s movie character than he already does. 

My eyes took a guilty quick glance of my own at Dreyse. Curtains wide open, the upper half of her frame was visible for all to see. She wasn’t dressed yet. As long as she wasn’t in the car with Nolan, he wouldn’t be leaving that spot. My eyes didn’t care to look any longer at her. 

Smoke continued to pool out of Nolan’s rolled down car window. Between ‘Nevada’ and ‘The Silver State’, ‘YOUNG43’ resided on his shiny silver-white licence plate. A reminder to the pigs in blue, and everyone else in this town, that the rules need not apply to him, as if any of the folks in this town would drive something like that. 

Two summers ago a kid at Christian summer camp, the one my stepdad sent me to despite me nor my mom being Christian, caught me smoking. I wanted some alone time. It was just me and the edge of the dock. Until the footsteps came. Not bothering to extinguish my cig, my head turned to a pale face, scrunched up, sweaty and oily. The pin on his shirt with some proverb about being nice stared me in the face. No greeting or anything he just told me point blank that men who smoke were trying to sate their subconscious urge to suck dick. Or at least that’s what his sister told him. I think it was supposed to convince me to stop, but really it just made me want to smoke more.

Looking at Nolan made me feel like my eyes were going to go blind. Not because he was good looking. His ride was red as the nosebleed that dickhead and his sheep would give me if he looked to his left and saw my ass on the bubble-gum-pink bike my cousin didn’t want anymore. The bike’s rough handles slightly burn the palms of my hand under my tight grip on them. My feet, one on the concrete and the other on a peddle, wanted to move. I gripped tighter. My eyes got a glimpse of the scratch on the side of his car that brought the most joy I’ve had all month.

Last time they caught me I couldn’t go to school for a week. When your mommy’s the sheriff, what would get me and my empty pockets suspended, gets you an apology from the kid you beat the shit out of. Figures. And of course Briggs—my stepdad, didn’t like that. He likes the house and my mom to himself. He made sure to show how pissed he was that not only did I let myself get beat up, but I also had to be near him for a week and he had to drive me to the school for my apology.

The long way to school was always an option. But I’d miss that good good sugary rainbow cereal my school gave all to the sad sacks whose moms are too busy trying to not get their head smashed with a toaster by their new daddy, to feed them breakfast. 

Nolan was still looking at the window. A part of me didn’t know why that made me so angry. Fuck it. My leg pushes away from the pavement so my body is no longer leaning. My foot pushed down on the highest pedal like I’d always wanted to do to his face. And I was off.

My body rocked back and forth on the seat of the bike. The sound of the bike chains and the tires against the gravel was all that my mind could comprehend. My veins pulsed and I tried to get as much air in my lungs as I could. The anticipation, worry, and excitement was all too much in that one moment.

As soon as my bike was in his eye sight my head turned to look at him. Putting my right hand to my lips, swerving to the left slightly, I blew him a sloppy kiss, and rode past his eye-sore of a car. The cherry of his cig hits the pavement. I wished I could make out what his face looked like when he saw me. What he felt. Did his eyes widen, did his heart beat as fast as mine? Was he furious or did he enjoy the chase just as much as I did. His engine revved and smoke seethe from his tires against the road. And when he shifted gears and sped forward, he drove in a way that would leave a smell of burned rubber and marks on the road. A permanent testament to this day.

“You’re dead, Yeager!” Music to my ears. One hand on the steering wheel and the other pushing himself out the window to look at me, more threats of murder came out of Nolan’s big mouth, all sorts of slurs peppered throughout. One guess for the most popular. One word, six letters, starts with an F, ends with ‘got’. Some real clever shit right there, I’m surprised he’s even passing English. 

He was hot on my tail, if the sound of his shitty expensive heirloom was any indication of that. When Derby road’s in sight, my legs go off the peddle letting the bike do all the work. The tires spin faster than my legs could ever make it down the hill of a road. Rows of houses pass by, never one quite the same and only a blur in my peripheral vision. My eyes were locked ahead.

The bright red stop sign that my bike was about to pass meant nothing to me. The sound of a tire skidding to a stop and the blare of a car honking was just ambience. My feet are back on the pedals, not yet moving them and the distinct sound of the bike whirring. Grasping on the handels I turn sharply to the right, the taped on handle struggling with the force. My bike slightly bumps as it goes up the sidewalk slope. I go right across the park. The grass gripped on to the tires, slowing me down a bit, but the sound of Nolan’s car sounded further. 

Two churches—one of which had a big ‘JESUS SAVES’ sign, an endless amount of houses, A trailer park, and a 7-Eleven later, my school was in sight. Sweat and the oversized button-up Ma’ promised would fit me eventually (it’s been four years), slowed me down more than I liked. Wind resistance was a bitch. My lungs burned from dehydration and the need for more air, and my legs were slowing down.

The hum of an engine. Shit. It’s not as if it’ll be safe on school property. But at least if I get knocked out someone would find me.

Once my bike is on the school's grass my muscles relax. Then, shittyly ducktaped handle detaches. The bike turns on itself. Pain caresses my back and shoots through the back of my head. The bike’s wheel is turning, I think, unless my hearing is fucked too.

Pressing my tongue around the inside of my cheek and across my teeth, the familiar taste of nickel stained my tongue. Arms out, palms flat, laid on the grass like Jesus on the cross. Bible camp and church signs must’ve really gotten to my head. I don’t even believe in the guy and I’m using him as a metaphor. 

My vision was red; the sunshine illuminating through my eyelids. The grass tickled against the parts of my arms that weren’t covered by my shirt. The ground felt cool and the sun warm. My body focused on these conflicting sensations instead of the pain. The distinct musky americana desert smell, gasoline, smoke breaks and hormones felt like home. Everything felt heavy. The desire of staying in this blissful calm and pain weighed me down.

Then my vision went dark and the warmth of the sun was gone. The itch of someone watching me was unmistakable. My eyes opened to be greeted by the sight of Mr. Bozado. He was the type of man who frowned with his whole face. Premature wrinkles kissed his face with the promise of more. His arms were crossed around his chest, and he was hovering over me probably annoyed that I was just staring at him.

If I moved the feeling would be gone. Bozo here would move me anyway. My arms pushed myself up so that I was now sitting. Then he slapped me across the head, told me to stop being a freak and stop loitering. Trying to pretend I didn’t flinch from the contact, I told him I was simply bird watching, though I don't think he really cared about my reasoning. This was our regular routine and his complete apathy towards me gave me a sense of normalcy. I think he’s just annoyed that he has to see a student's face before the school even opens every morning. All the hormones gave him a headache he had claimed once.

Bozado pulled my arm, forcibly lifting me off the ground. My feet stumbled a bit when he let go. He probably didn’t want to deal with complaints about a student being alone, probably cracked out on the school lawn. My hands grasped my shirt and turned it around my body to see how it looked. Grass stains and dirt. Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been—

A finger snaps right in my face, Bozard’s doing, only pissing me off more. I’ve been told that I’m shit at hiding when I’m mad. Showing it would only get me in trouble.

“You high, Yeager?” My head shook side to side, indicating no. At least, not at the moment. Haven’t been for a couple days. I’m on my goodboy streak.

“Eye contact,” fuck off. “Respond with words.” Giving my best obedient student look, which was probably not very good, I looked right at him. I hate eye contact. Partially because it’s just plain uncomfortable, but it made people think they had power over you. That you’re obeying them.

“No.” 

“No what?”

“No, sir,” What was this, boot camp? “I am not high.” He clicked his tongue and started walking. Facing away from me he gestured over is shoulder with his thumb, rest of his fingers closed, towards my bike. I picked the bike up off the grass, grabbed the fallen off handle too, and walked it, following him. I was treated with the offensive view of his tucked in red polo and khakis on the way into the school.

Once I was at my locker he left to go lecture some other students. My eyes firmly kept their focus on the books in my locker. My mood was already sour, I didn’t need to make it worse by paying attention to my surroundings. 

My fellow classmates loved getting a rise out of him, seeing his face puff up and his already sunburnt skin turn even redder as he yelled at us. It was cruel really, considering he got paid dirt. He used to be a man with big dreams, thought he’d get out of this town and go to a college out of state, get a degree in history, and get a pretty wife along the way. And he did for a while go to a big university. Then the fear crept in. Everything went so fast; time, money. His girlfriends didn’t last, due to his shitty personality, though he’d never admit that. Then his mom got sick. So he went back to Hell and settled. Turns out there’s not many jobs, here at least, that you can use your history degree in. So teaching high-school students and coaching basketball on the side it is. 

Mr. Bozado was a walking cliche. Just like everyone in this town. Just like me.

◎◎◎

Leaving my hoodie at home was a mistake. The artificial cafeteria lights so early in the morning felt sickening. Nearly a week of summer vacation being over and my brain still hated it. Spoon in my mouth, tray in hand, I walked to the nearest empty table and slammed down onto the bench. I grabbed the plastic cereal bowl off the tray and tore open the thin cover that was separating me from that cavity inducing cereal. Once opened, A sweet aroma instantly made itself known.

Too busy thinking about food, I only had just noticed the figure hovered next to me. My body froze. They kept fidgeting. I still didn’t move. Then there’s a tap on the table. I look up to see big eyes staring at me. The baseball team’s new favorite punching bag. I had seen them messing with the kid a couple days ago. Didn’t bother learning his name at the time. Barely into high-school and he already had a target on his back.

“Can, I, uh, sit next to you?” fresh meat scratched the back of his short hair, shifting uncomfortably. I pick up the small milk carton off my tray, open it, and pour it into the plastic bowl. Some of the milk splashes on the fake wood lunch table. Hunched over I shovel the rainbow cereal into my mouth, the delicious flavor I could only describe as artificial fruit filling my mouth. The kid still stared at me waiting for my response. Biting his lip, he takes brief glances at me and taps his index finger on the table.

The tapping stops. The kid leans over, and after the sound of a zipper, he pulls out a thin matte magazine. “You like Moon Knight, right?” He pushes the comic towards me. Front and center on it was a figure in an all white cape, black shrouding his face, and a little crescent moon on his belt for good measure. “I saw you eyeing his stuff at the bookstore, the one on Grand, in the donation section. On Tuesday, I think. Not that I was spying on you!” Ah, my guilty pleasure was now known. Though, I didn’t think that my reasoning for reading them was quite the same as his. I had no particular interest in the plot or heroes and their mental breakdowns. It was the muscles.

Eyes wider than ever, he went on explaining how he happened to see me—he was also at the bookstore. Go figure. I scrunch my eyes closed and pushed my thumb to my forehead.

“Look,” I gestured towards him.

“Falco,” He leaned over extending a hand. It hung in the air. By the time I realized he wanted me to shake it his smile faltered. He leaned back and shoved his hand into his lap. “Grice. Colt Grice, is my brother. He’s one of the pitchers for the baseball team here. Well he was last year. He’s at uni right now.”

Falco continued talking about himself and his brother and I never got to finish what I was going to say. 

“By the way,” he coughs into his fist. “Thank you for the other day. Helping me out, I mean.” His eyes soften for a moment and he gives the first smile I’ve seen him make, teeth and all. 

“This week hasn’t been the best for me,” he gestures to the fading black eye one of the guys on the baseball team gave him. “It’s nice to know there’s someone, like, remotely okay.”

Guilt hammered against my brain at his words. I take a swig of the carton, drinking the little milk remaining. My good deed that he appreciated so much wasn’t really about him personally. But he didn’t need to know that.

Really I wanted to just stew in my own anger about Nolan for a bit. Alone. But the conversation continued. I let him do all the speaking. He just seemed relieved to have someone to talk to. I knew the feeling. I’ve been told my social tendencies tend to change rapidly from overly enthusiastic, aggressive, to misanthropic. The kind of attitude that makes everyone depressed, pissed off, or annoyed. The latter two of my tendencies seem to be the most prevalent lately.

A part of me wanted to ask why he was alone. About his old friends and the girl he used to hang around. Let him vent a little. The other part, the more selfish part, didn’t want to hear her name. Too many memories I’d rather not dwell on. The selfish part won, and I spent the rest of my time in the cafeteria listening to the kid chatter instead.

◎◎◎

I had vaguely known about the girl they were talking about. She was a freshman, blonde, I think. Kay or maybe Katie. Something happened over the summer, I only got bits and pieces. A girl with no friends finds herself with tons on the first day, all seniors. And then the next day back to none. Now people won’t stop talking about how weird she is. It wasn’t hard to put it together. Even more reason for me to have trust issues. 

No matter how fast my feet went, it felt like I couldn’t escape the talk of her, and I tried to not think of my sister and worry for her next year. My mind seemed to be filled with nothing but their comments, images of the girl crying, and my sister going through the same thing.

The soles of my feet burned with a light numbness. Bent over with my hands on my knees, I focused on breathing through my nose. My blood is hot. I could turn around and punch them. Kick them while they’re down in the stomach. Instead, I used my feet to walk to the locker room. My legs probably moved a little too fast for a simple bathroom break and I could hear taunts behind me. My right hand grabs the pack of cigs in my gym shorts. I always keep a pack on me. I hear Coach yelling at me but I just keep walking.

Before this class, the day blurred together. It might’ve been an alright day considering, if not for the dumbasses I left behind me. Being alone in the locker room felt like a breath of fresh air, but the Nevada heat made it even more unbearable than outside. My skin slick with sweat, leaving me with the constant itch of my gym clothes stuck to me. Shedding my clothes and stepping into the shower didn’t help to subside my anger. 

One blue tile. One green. Two blue tiles. Two green. My mother used to do this with me to calm myself down. She would hold me in her arms with a blanket around us both and count with me. She hasn’t hugged me in years. In that moment, embarrassment be damned, I missed those days.

I let cold water cool me down. The yelling and laughter entered the room and all showers turning on were great background noise for my breakdown. Eventually the noise subsided other than some footsteps slowly fading out. I continued my counting until nothing could be heard except my shower. 

I got out and went to my locker. I barely got to put my towel around my waist before I found myself shoved up against a locker. My back meeting the metal left a pain that I didn’t get any time to think about. 

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Yeager.” Nolans fingers dug into my arm and my skin felt hot. Despite his words, he looked more annoyed than angry. “Tell me who fucked with my car and I’ll leave you alone.” I kept my eyes focused on the bridge of his nose, not wanting to look him in the eye. He was too close. Whatever game we were playing, I didn’t want it to stop. Thank god for Nolan deciding to put on some clothes before doing this. 

“We both know that’s bullshit. You’d find another reason. It’s weird how much you’re obsessed with me.” My words were hypocritical. I didn’t care. “This is crazy even for you. Making up a story about how someone else must’ve jacked up your car, when I told you it was me.” My ears were red at the blatant lie that came out of my mouth.

He stared at me and a part of me expected him to throw a punch. Instead, he just let go of me.

“I don’t know why you’re so adamant to be so fucking unlikable.” Then he walked away.  
  


◎◎◎

Unfortunately, and unintentionally, me and Nolan walked to class together. If you count trying to ignore each other, with a good six feet between us while we walked to the same class. Nolan shoved the door open. It hit the wall as he walked in English class. I followed in soon after.

A ‘Good of you to show up’ was said, keeping my head down, trying to not draw anymore attention to myself, and mumbled an apology back. Went to my seat. While I unzipped my backpack, it hit me. No constant talking or laughing. Other than me putting my pen on the desk, the room was dead silent.

We had five substitute teachers quit in one week. Usually Mrs. Ral would be teaching us English, but the lucky bastard was on maternity leave. I bet she sighed in relief when she realized she got a whole school year away from us. If I was her I would’ve quit and left to teach at Riverside. She was a sweet lady, really deserved better.

Our school’s shitty reputation was deserved. Getting paid nothing and having to deal with us. I expected the alternating of substitutes to at least continue until next week. The students strive off the frustration of the teachers and looked for any way to pester them. So when the newest victim showed up, I wasn’t expecting what we got instead of the usual spineless teachers.

“You two are lucky,” the substitute's deep voice reverberated around the room. Leaning on the desk, one hand on it holding him up, other an open folder, ass partially on the desk itself, a far cry from the usual anxiety that radiated off the substitutes. “We were just about to finish roll call.”

Mister substitute looked down at the class list. 

“Which one of you is Nolan Young?” With a smirk and his head slightly tilted, Nolan leaned back and raised his arm, slowly. The teacher was not amused, but did nothing and went back to looking at the list.

“Yeager?” I raise my arm.

Pushing himself off the desk and closing the folder, he walked to the chalkboard.

“Next time either of you come late, I won’t let you off as easy.” His back was to us and he picked up the chalk. Turning it around in his hand, white chalk dust falling into nothingness. He made a joke, as he started to write his name, something about us getting a whiteboard like every other school in the state.

Nolan looked pissed. Probably was stewing about the teacher's earlier comment, and annoyed with how comfortable he was. How the others were listening to him.

“Frankly, _sir_ ,” Nolan said, leaning forward in his chair. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of you after today—”

A piece of chalk, barely visible, flew through the classroom and hit Nolan right in the middle of his forehead, exploding into little bits. One second nothing, then a poof of white. That’s what it felt like. Everyone just stared at Nolan, not fully understanding what had just happened.

He just sat there frozen, you’d think he’d been shot or something with the face he made. I remember the sound of his shoes, the teacher, as he walked slowly from the board to the back of the room, until he's standing right in front of Nolan. 

And he leans forward on to Nolan's desk and says, "Are you hurt?" And Nolan shakes his head no. Like, he was scared. And he says, "Good. My Name is Mr. Ackerman. You're going to remember that, right?" And Nolan nods yes.

Well, he got our attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TUMBLR](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bloodlied) \- [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BLOODLIESD) \- [RIVAERE COLLECTION](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/best_rivaere)
> 
>   
> Thanks for reading!! Constructive criticism and comments are always welcome here.
> 
> ◎
> 
> After years of listening to 'Goodbye, Mr. Adams' I finally decided to make this fic. In order to adapt that podcast and make it into a dark romance I had to sacrifice many of the themes that were present in the story. Simply taking the story, only changing the dynamic and copying and pasting Rivaere is what I originally was going to do. And it made me feel kinda shitty. Like I was making a bastardization of the original that kinda disregarded the authors own story.
> 
> While it was no way necessary, I tried my best to make it into my own thing. This was definitely the best route. I am proud of what is as of now and in the future when I revise this fic I hope to make it completely original.
> 
> ◎
> 
> Now on to some fun news: My beta/friend Lou, made a collection of Top Levi and Bottom Eren fics! We try to add a little bit of everything, even if it's not our thing, so there should be plenty for you to be able to find. 


	2. SEVEN ELEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **UPDATE**   
> 
> 
> Ah, so, you may have noticed that this fic doesn't have a planned amount of chapters anymore. A couple months ago, I thought that this fic would be no longer than 15k. And then my brief outline for it passed 10k. So I estimated it to be 50k--5k per chapter. And well, now after taking a look and fleshing things out more I have no idea how long this will be. We're at the very beginning of the first Arc and the plot should start to ramp up within 3 or so chapters, if my too much gene doesn't kick in and I add more stuff.
> 
> I know the Levi/Eren interaction hasn't been much but when there relationship gets started it'll get hot and heavy. I already have the chapter where the smut starts mostly written. It's coming. Just got to get the plot started. And this is a bit of a shorter chapter! I wanted to get something out sooner as a thank you for all the kind feedback I've gotten. You're all so nice!
> 
> **Warnings: Smoking**

They broke it. Nolan and his shitty friends on the baseball team. My bike was sitting in the parking lot looking like it had just gotten hit with a bat, which is probably what happened. It wasn’t always like this for me. My last school in Boulder City, Nevada, a ways away from Hell much closer to Las Vegas, wasn’t too bad. Boring as fuck, but nobody had it out for me. Mostly. Sports, girls, whatever else, were never stuff I paid attention to. So sure, some of the guys there would fuck with me, but that was all child's play. Not like this.

A couple days had passed since Nolan’s threat. With how quiet it was on his front, I almost thought he decided to leave me alone. His car gets scratched, he breaks my bike. An equal payment in his eyes.

Now, here I was holding the piece of junk around one of my arms. It poked my sides every time I took a step. I’m not muscular, though scrawny wasn’t a word anyone would use to describe me. Carrying it was more than a little annoying, let alone having to carry it all the way to my sister’s middle school.

One year, and she’d be in high school and theoretically I’d be in college. My days of youth were limited. On this list of ‘Cliche Things to Do in High School’, I’ve done like four and most of them weren’t fun and all almost landed me in juvie. In my over eighteen years of life there was nothing I wanted to do. No plan for the future. And at this rate, my chances of living past twenty-five seemed low. 

Leaving her alone here was the last thing I wanted. But if I stay here any longer I might go crazy.

By the time I was half way across town and at her school, unable to ride my bike to distract myself, my head hurt from all the overthinking I did. Briggs had the car but even if he wasn’t still working around this time, there is no way I’d let him drive Isabel alone. 

My hair was sticking to my face from sweat. I sighed a breath of relief once I got on the property. Finding my usual spot, the bench near the school's front doors, letting gravity do all the work I sat on it with a thud. I probably looked weird, sitting in front of the middle school, broken bike and generally looking like a vagrant. Luckily the teachers know me well or I’d probably be run off the property.

Most of the kids were picked up by now, so only a few trickled out of the building. Isabel usually stayed after a little longer for basketball practice with her team—, thank god.

The school’s door opened and dark brown hair peaked out. Isabel always claims it’s actually red if you look close enough. A smile spread on her face when she spotted me and her pigtails bounced as she walked towards me. Her jersey and basketball shorts made her look like a traffic cone. A traffic cone with pit stains. Her walking faltered as she got closer and her gaze was glued to my bike. Tilting her head, she frowned in a way that made her look like a puppy.

“Big Bro, what happened?” She always talked in a way where she was very loud without yelling. My head tilts towards the sidewalk and I push myself off the bench. There was no need to worry her. I asked her if she wanted to stop for some snacks. Still sprouting a frown, she says yeah. 

With a wrinkled brow, Isabel kept throwing glances at me and my bike as we walked to the gas station. Her mouth was shut the whole way. A rare occurrence for her. On one of our good days, with Briggs out of the house, me, her and mom all spent a whole day talking about whatever show was on TV. You can’t shut any of us up when we care about the conversation. The memory makes me almost smile.

After we went into the 7-Eleven, Hot Cheetos, a soggy tuna sandwich, bottled water in her bag, and shitty coffee sweetened as much as possible and a sloppy cheeseburger in mine. We sat on the sidewalk on the street parallel to 7-Eleve

We watched the people walking on the sidewalk across from us. There weren't many cars out, so we had a clear view of them. Everyone who passes by has their own story. Making guesses about each person's life was a game we liked to play. A redheaded woman with a shaved head, smudged makeup, tired eyes, just got back from murdering someone—Isabel’s guesses always somehow ended with someone being murdered. 

When she got done telling me how the person who looked like Christina Ricci was actually a clone of Christina Ricci who had killed the real Christina Ricci, I finally decided to just say it.

“Shit heads at school broke it,” With my palms behind me on the sidewalk, I leaned back a bit. “Though it’s not something you gotta worry about, Izzy. It’s my problem.”

“The fuck?” she blurted. I interjected a quick reminder to not fucking cuss. She slapped my arm, causing both of us to laugh. There was a comfortable lull in the conversation.“Why don't you just,” she made a punching motion. “They’d stop bothering you real fast.”

“Yeah and I’ll get suspended, if not get the cops on my ass, ” I give her a toothy smile. “But I’m flattered that you think I can take that many guys at once.” 

“You ain’t getting into fights are you?” I ask her.

“Nah,” She makes a scrunched up face. “Well, not physically.” Good enough. I pat her on the back.

“Come on, Bug, let’s go.” I get up from the sidewalk, and a guy shoulder checks me. I almost fall over and the guy gives no apology. God, people in this place get on my nerves.

When we got home my stomach turned as I looked at the darkening sky. We were a little late. Fuck, Briggs was going to be pissed. Not that he cares about us, just annoyed that he didn’t have more people to yell at. 

Letting my bike fall into our front yard, I put my arm around Isabel’s neck and pulled her into a big hug. 

“Ugh, gross” she muttered, though didn’t make a move to pull away. I pulled her cap off and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I want takeout. Do you think I can convince Mom to get some?”

I laugh and say “Stay safe, kid”

“You’re not coming in?” She frowns, pushing away slightly to look up at me. “Who’s gonna back me up in ordering food.”

“Not this time,” I gesture towards my bike. “I’ll be back in time to say goodnight. You just ate. I’ll buy you some another day. Promise.” She lifts up her pinky and I grasp it with my own.

She lets go of me and runs towards the front door and yells “I’m holding you to that.” She turns and waves as she waits for mom to unlock the door. She must’ve forgotten her key again. Once I spot my mom, I decide it’s best to leave before she sees me.

“Eren?” My mom yelled out to me. I didn’t even get to take a step.

“He’s going over to a friend’s house, Ma.” Isabel lies. I haven’t spent as much time with them as I used too.

“Love you.” My mom says as I pick up my bike. The loud boom of Briggs’ voice calls for her. The three words were on the tip of my tongue but she goes inside before I get to say them. 

◎◎◎

The bike was a lost cause. If they’d left the frame alone I could’ve fixed it. At best, I could sell some of the parts. It’s fucked up pink form mocked me from where it lied on the concrete in my makeshift garage. My kingdom. 

Sometime around when we moved to hell I found this place. A small abandoned loading dock that was connected to what I guessed what used to be a local store. The signs were all ripped out and whatever proof of what it used to sell was long gone. I was already pushing my luck sneaking in here, so I never looked more than a quick peek at what was inside.

If the loading dock was my kingdom, then I was Satan, and the car in it was my wings. Black stained my hands—motor oil. It felt nice to see some proof of my hard work, even if you couldn’t tell from this piece of junk car. It was my dad’s—my biological dad. He was a real bastard of a man, though I wouldn’t really know. He died before I was born. Typical. Add in an affair and my parentage could fit right in on TV.

It was nothing special or flashy. An 1972 Oldsmobile Cutlass—black, but must’ve cost him a pretty penny when he bought it. The old man managed to fuck it up pretty bad, and a decade of no upkeep made it worse. Revving your engine, drifting and other fancy tricks were fine for NASCAR but will ruin your car. 

I grabbed an already oil stained cloth and haphazardly wiped my hands. The cloth drops to the floor and I pull open one of the car doors. My shoulder hits dog tags, my fathers, as I lean over the driver's seat to grab my bag. Ma’ thought she lost it. Right after we moved here I lied and told her I took the car to a junkyard like she told me too. The tags were still in here, so to her, the last memories of him were gone. I had to pay back Marlowe for months to make up for the cash I borrowed from him. Keeping up the lie was worth it though. 

After flicking off the lights, I slowly open the loading docks backdoor. The coast is clear and I’m off again. Having no bike was going to make the trip home hell, no pun intended. The cool pavement and great view of the night sky made up for it. The one perk of Hell was the lack of light pollution and the ground completely flat. So flat that If I got high enough and I had night vision I could probably spot my house.

The stars were bright red mountains haunted every step I made. I gave a silent goodbye to all the closed down stores and grabbed my pack. Using my index finger and thumb I put a cigarette between my lips and let it hang. I feel nothing as I reach into my right pocket. Then left. All my jean pockets. And nothing. I could’ve sworn I brought it.

“Need a light?”

I stopped in my tracks. The voice was extremely familiar since I had spent the past couple days listening to it. The smell of gasoline etched into my clothes made me a little lightheaded. Being in the dark with my English teacher offering to light my cigarette wasn’t helping. One step into the Twilight Zone, it is

“Yeah,” My voice comes out as more of a mumble due to my cigarette. Mr. Ackerman steps closer to me and grabs his lighter out of his pocket. With a click, light emanates and reflects off of his face. His knuckles graze my chin. And my right hand covers the flame protecting it from the breeze.

“There a reason why you’re out so late, Mr. Yeager?” Mr. Ackerman slipped the lighter back in his coat pocket. He wasn’t in his usual teaching outfit, which I guess makes sense considering how late it was. A dress shirt and pants was now a white t-shirt and jeans. 

“A guy can’t just go out for a smoke?” 

“You heading that way?” he says ignoring my answer and nods up the road. I was, in fact, heading that way. “ I’m stopping somewhere to eat, you’re welcome to join me.” And with that he starts walking. By the time I process what he says I have to jog briefly to catch up.

Finally matching his pace, I take my cigarette out of my mouth and I say “Just one question,” He raises his eyebrow but doesn’t bother looking at me.“You paying?” He tsks in response. 

After a couple minutes of silence the restaurant comes into view. I take out my cigarette and crush it under my boot. On the outside it looked like a mom-and-pops convenience store. And it was. But once you get past the shelves in the back was a tiny dimly-lit restaurant that the family also owned. My mom was friends with one of the owners' children, Nanaba. 

We take one of the single booths in the corner. Levi doesn’t take one look at the menu and just leans back into the seat. The one waiter comes and asks if Mr. Ackerman wants the usual, with him nodding in response. I rushed out my order after—the first thing I saw on the menu. I slouch into my seat a bit and turn my face towards the window. Nanaba could be here and I don’t need them blabbing to my mom that I was here and catching me in my lie. Well, Isabel’s lie.

I hadn’t thought much about my first class with him since it happened. His classes since then have been fairly normal, all considering. He’s kind of a hard-ass and he tries to make jokes sometimes, or at least I think they’re jokes. No more chalk flying out of nowhere. All the kids respect him to a degree, even Nolan who has been keeping his mouth shut. But being alone with him in a restaurant and fifteen-minutes to kill, well I can’t help but wonder what makes him tick.

This whole time I’ve been really trying my best to both hide from Nanaba and avoid eye contact with Ackerman. I’m out of my element. I think he noticed my weird behavior but he made no comment.

The rest of our time in the restaurant continued like this. Even when our food came his was already boxed up and he never once took a bite. He simply just drank from his cup and read the paper. Very anticlimactic. 

When my plate was empty he shoved his black takeout bowl towards me. 

“Take it. I already ate,” He took a swig of his tea. “It’s pozole. If you don’t like it you can give it to someone.” 

I’m sure confusion was written all over my face. Before I could even ask he simply said, “You looked hungry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TUMBLR](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bloodlied) \- [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BLOODLIESD) \- [RIVAERE COLLECTION](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/best_rivaere)
> 
>   
> Thank you for taking your time to read it! As always, comments are welcome. 


	3. TOO MANY FRIENDS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Smoking, violence, bullying, drinking, mentions of drug use.
> 
> Other Pairings: past Annie/Ymir, Implied Marlow/Eren

In terms of entertainment, Hell is unsurprisingly sparse. Sure, there were a couple of malls but they weren't the fancy kind they had in bigger places. Some shitty bowling alleys, dive bars, and cinemas that had the same movies for most of the year are all we have. You could also go hiking or camping and shit, but most people's choice of activity was drinking, meth, and sex.

Everything here is drained of color. Subdued. Tan and dirt dominates the landscape and in turn it takes and takes until there’s nothing left. 

Legally, it’s a city. Hell, I mean. You wouldn’t know from looking at it. It’s not small enough where everyone knew each other, but it wasn’t big enough where anonymity was an option. No skyscrapers—most of the buildings didn’t go over one story. No abundance of traffic, public transportation was shit. All we had are buses. Nevada’s one of those places where there’s no real stipulation on what constitutes a town versus a city.

It’s not like anyone came to Nevada to visit Hell. It was all about the shit hole that is the Las Vegas strip. And honestly that’s just fine with me. I’d been there a few times back when I lived closer. Snuck out with a couple of my friends and forced to go there with them. Mom would hate if she knew that I ever went; said it’d rot my brain. She used to work in a casino there, so I’d guess she’d know.

The Las Vegas strip is like Disneyland. Once you work there it’s not a place you ever want to go. It loses its charm and you see it for what it truly is. Behind the glamor, sparkling lights, the sensory overload, and the promises, it’s rotten. Even the nicer casinos on the strip have mold growing in the walls. And, man, you can only look at the pretty shit for so long before it’s like looking at paint dry. 

When Briggs offered to get her out of there she took it. I never liked him. I heard the promises he made her through the thin walls of our last apartment. She wouldn’t have to work in the strip anymore, he’d take her out of there, and he’d always be by her side. So of course she said yes. I don’t blame her, what was she supposed to do? But I’d be lying if there wasn’t some part of me that resented her. 

As tempting as drugs and alcohol sound, alone and sober is how I spend most of my time. Usually behind the bleachers watching what people got up to. Not that I didn’t indulge in either vices at times, but the principal already had her eyes on me for the audacity of getting beat up by one of the school’s star athletes.

You’d think I’d cause me more trouble being near the baseball field but it was mostly empty most of the day, other than a few people hanging out on it. And on good days it’s where people decided to resolve their problems. Teachers had a harder time breaking up fights when they were all the way over here. It was a front row seat to stupid drama.

This habit of mine, hanging out here—It’s how I met Annie.

Couple days after transferring to Hell, I was smoking a cigarette I had got from Marlow. A pack just for giving a blowjob is one hell of a deal. Really it was a win-win situation in my eyes. Anyways, I was looking through the chain link fence under the bleachers. It was gym class for some of the juniors and two friends got into it on the field. Not quite yelling at each other but I was sure that it was going to get physical soon. Coach was too busy with the other students to notice. 

While I was trying to figure out from their movements what the fight was about, I had heard someone sit on the grass. My hands gripped onto the fence harder and froze, thinking I’d been caught. After I didn’t hear any yelling I turned to see who it was.

Eyes closed head against one of the bleachers columns sat Annie. She looked straight at me and said in that dry voice of hers, “If you’re gonna be weird, get the fuck out of here”. So, I stayed and went back to watching.

After that it became a routine of sorts for us. She’d nap, or do some weird shit in her notebook—it wasn’t homework that’s for sure—, and I’d watch. She had asked me about it once. Asked me what I was looking at all the time. I motioned for her to look and she joined me.

After a minute of staring, I told her that it’s interesting to see what people do when they think you’re not looking.

“That’s…fucking creepy, man.” she scrunched her face and went back to doing her own thing.

I wouldn’t call us friends exactly. I’m sure if I did she’d punch me. We just had an understanding. No talking. We mind our own business. Truly, I thought that if anyone broke this unsaid rule, it’d be me. But I should’ve known. Annie always manages to pull the rug out from everyone.

My mind was already fucked from Mr. Ackerman doing whatever he had done. Bought me food, no strings attached. The people here weren’t exactly known for random acts of kindness. It made me anxious knowing that he could hold that over me. I kept waiting for the catch. A reason. Anything at all. But it never came. 

Maybe I’m not the smartest but despite what most would think, I wasn’t failing any classes. I was already in a constant state of boredom and the thought of doing badly, well, I might as well spend my time paying attention. But a couple weeks into school and I was already slipping in his class. Mr. Ackerman didn’t act any differently; no indication whatsoever of us talking the other night.

The end of the month almost upon us, I thought it couldn’t get any weirder. Annie talking me into going to a party with her definitely threw me off even more. Like she couldn’t have at least waited till October to show a new side of her.

While I was walking out of the school’s parking lot a shitty pickup rode right along next to me. It was Annie’s. The loud muffler and the white stripe around it gave it away, I didn’t even need to look at the driver's seat. It was so tempting to keep walking. My brain knew better than to piss off Annie but it was also too tired to deal with any more social interaction for the day.

“We’re going to a party. Get in.” I just laughed under my breath. The idea that she’d want to go anywhere with that many people, drunk people no less, and with me was absurd. My face turned to look up at her but she looked just as serious as ever. And there was something in her eyes that I couldn’t pinpoint. 

So I got in. No words were spoken. I road shotgun. No words were spoken. I slammed the car door and put on my seat belt. She just drove out the parking lot, one hand tightly gripping the steering wheel, eyes not wavering from the road. 

“My sister has to be picked up from school.” 

“Okay. So.”

“So, I can’t go.”

“Your parents can get her.”

“They’re not—“

“Then bring her with. I don’t really care.” 

“No way. I’m not letting her go near a bunch of high-schoolers,” She was barely fourteen, and teenagers weren’t exactly known for being responsible. “How the hell did you manage to get invited?”

The first thing that came to mind when thinking of ways she could’ve gotten invited was her threatening a cheerleader. 

“They’re college students. And, I didn’t say I was invited.”

“Annie. That’s. worse.” Frustrated, I put a hand through my hair. “I’m not crashing a college party with my little sister. Can’t you just drop her off? My house is just on—” Annie slams the breaks in the middle of the road. My body goes forward and the seat belt prevents me from hitting my head. My brain was still processing when she started talking again.

“She can wait in the car. The party is two hours away, we’re already going to waste enough time getting her.” She points a finger in my face. “Going the opposite way to drop her off is stupid. Either she comes with, or she can walk herself home.”

After a couple seconds of silence, Annie resumed driving.

Letting Izzy wait for hours wondering why no one came to get her? I’m not going to make her experience that again. Back before mom remarried and Briggs was just her no good boyfriend, instead of husband, she was working all the time. The fumes from buses made Izzy nauseous. Puked every time she went on one.

So that left Briggs to pick us up. How sweet of him. Except knowing if he would actually show up was a gamble. So we’d wait. And wait. If we left too early, he’d complain to our mom how he went out of his way to pick us up and we weren’t there.

I have no choice. I mean, I could open the door and jump, keep my arms covering my head and hope I’ll be fine. Get Izzy and continue our day like normal. But, I’d be nice to have a whole day with her, even if it was just in a car together. Haven’t done that for a long while.

Next thing I know, Isabel was in the claustrophobic inducing back seat and we were on the freeway towards the shittiest college town in all of Nevada. Once you drive out of Hell, there’s no sign of life for miles. Flat lands as far as the eye can see, and the occasional abandoned shack, signs advertising things that no longer exist, or cars that have been there since the 70s. 

But just right in between the desolate suffocating isolation and the type of claustrophobia a small city can give, there was forest, lakes, snowy mountains, and plains. Plains with animals that weren’t just bones lying in sand. If I had to choose one thing that I’d miss about this place, it’d be that. Driving out here. It’s not something I got to do often. My transportation options were limited and leisure time isn’t number one on my list of priorities. 

And with a blink of an eye, it was gone. I knew what way we were going, but a part of me hoped she’d head north-east instead. No parties or whatever Annie had planned, but go near where life was. Just thinking of it made me long for the dizziness of the change in elevation and to go to the hot springs hidden in the greenery.

Through the heat waves, with my hand blocking the sun from my eyes, I looked at all the dirt. One thought kept repeating in my mind. How many bodies were buried in them? The stretch of road was long; there were no bends in the road anymore. Cars passed by us, at best, every 15 minutes. There was no doubt in my mind that someone had taken advantage of this murder opportunity. 

With my forearm, I absentmindedly wiped the sweat that started to drip down my brow. The further we drove, the more killer the heat became. My lips were chapped, and my shirt was stuck to my skin. Eyes still on the road, Annie gestured for Isabel to hand her something. 

“Hey, kid.” On her right hand that was leaned towards the back seat, Annie snaps her fingers trying to remember Izzy’s name.

“Isabel.” Izzy made no effort in hiding the annoyance in her voice.

“Isabel. Under Eren’s seat are some water bottles. Give me two.” I didn’t have to see Isabel’s face to know she was narrowing her eyes. She handed them to Annie regardless, and Annie in turn handed one to me. I remove the bottle’s cap with a snap, signaling the seal breaking, and take a long drink.

Most of the drive would probably be like this. Just the hum of the car, the scratch of pencil on paper from Isabel doing her homework, us munching on the weird protein bars and snacks Annie has hoarded. At some point, probably tired of the silence, Isabel unbuckled and moved to turn on the radio. I used her head as an armrest as she fiddled with the dials, only stopping after she swatted my arm a couple times. 

Most of the stations were unintelligible or static. Isabel finally managed to find a rock station that sounded halfway decent. She was taking this all relatively well, considering I showed up to her school in a car she’s never seen with a girl she’s never met. Thankfully she didn’t ask any weird questions about Annie, just her interrogating me about my day. Growing up together meant she was pretty good at sensing when I was not in a good mood, vice versa. Enough that she probably knew I wasn’t happy with Annie.

Her and Annie, at first, didn’t seem like they didn’t really know how to react to each other. Over the drive they did start to warm up to each other. Annie would ask questions and Izzy would happily reply. With my arms crossed and my head resting on my forearm, I leaned out the window catching bits and pieces of their conversation.

When the desert turned into car dealerships, churches, fast food joints, and motels, I started to doze off. I woke up to Annie shoving my shoulder, and opening my eyes to a frat house that looked like it was built in the 70s. I think Annie told me the name. Phi Delta Theta? Kappa Kappa Theta? It was something stupid and had ‘Theta’ in it.

Even with the just sun starting to go down, the grass in front looked too bright and too green to be real. There were cars scattered down the block, and a few people in the yard, but it seemed to be a small gathering compared to some of the parties I’ve biked passed before.

I look over my seat’s shoulder and say “Hey Izzy, remember not to let anyone in. And—”

“And stay in the car. I got it. Don’t take too long. You both owe me for this.”

“Sure, sure.” Annie said, unbuckling her seat belt. “What do kids like? Chuck E Cheese?”

“Very funny,” Isabel crosses her arms and leans back into her seat. After Annie makes no indication that she was being sarcastic, Isabel’s eyes get a little wide. “Wait, please tell me you’re joking. Eren’s she’s joking, right?”

Annie gets out of the car and motions for me to follow. Isabel repeats her question and in response I ruffle her hair. Once I go around the car by Annie, she starts walking up the walkway. It’s as good as time as any to ask what’s been on my mind the whole ride here.

“Hey, Annie, for real, why did you bring me?” I’m still not sure what her motivation was to come here. “Isn’t there someone else you could’ve brought?”

“Ah, Eren, the truth is,” she puts her hands on my shoulders and makes an exaggerated and bashful expression. I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my life than in this moment. “I’ve been pining over you this whole time.” Her lips start quivering.

And then she laughs, suddenly and loudly, and keeps laughing like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever told. She removed one of her hands from my shoulder and covered her mouth, trying to keep herself from getting any louder. The other people in the yard start to throw looks at us.

Regaining her composure a bit and wiping a tear from her eye she says, “I can’t even pretend to like you without wanting to laugh.” 

“Annie. No more jokes.” And just like that, like a switch turned on, she went back to her usual apathetic self. She sighs and makes a comment about me being no fun.

“Well, if I end up dead, at least you’ll know. Since you won’t have a ride home.” She removed her other hand from my shoulder at last and brushed off the bottom of her coat. “And, no, to your second question. I’m not exactly miss popular, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Wait, dead?” What the fuck. “What kind of shit have you gotten yourself into? You let me bring my sister along.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. ‘Sides I told you not to bring her.” She grabs my arm and makes me follow her up the stairs. If she kept holding it as hard as she was, it’d leave a bruise. “Come on, let’s go inside. People are looking at us.”

Once we get in the house, I rip my arm from her grip. Right in the entrance to the living room, small groups of people were crowded around each other talking among themselves. Thankfully, my assumption that it wasn’t as crowded as it could’ve been, was right. More people that I like being around, but at least it wasn't a shoulder to shoulder type of crowded. It was taking everything in me to not confront Annie more. As mad as she made me right now, she was right. Attracting attention was the last thing I wanted to do.

“Stay here.” Annie said while she looked at every face we walked past. Why am I surprised anymore? She wants me to come here with her. She doesn’t want me to actually be around her. I can’t keep up.

“I only need you in case things go south. Drink, talk to people or whatever your crazy ass thinks is fun. Just. Let me go do my thing,” She narrows her eyes at someone in the distance, but her being so much shorter than me and just the amount of people made it impossible to tell who. She turns back to face me. “Just, don’t get so fucked up that you can’t run to the car if needed.”

Annie makes a beeline towards the stairs, leaving me to my own devices. Isabel seeing me as anything but sober was out of the question. And it occurred to me that nobody knew that me and Isabel had left town. Finding out where they had a phone, it was. My guess is the kitchen. 

Nobody bothered me as I made my way around the house. People’s guesses for my age were usually accurate, give or take a year, so they probably assumed I was a freshman at the college. And Annie, well she walked with an air of confidence and a promise of violence. I had no doubt that nobody would mess with her, even if they thought she was in high-school. I have a feeling nobody really cared too much anyways. Too focused on their own entertainment.

Spotting the small archway, I don’t really register any of the people as I pass them; they're just blurry shapes. The carpeted floor is soft against my sneakers. A laugh a little at the thought of Mom seeing me do this. She’d kill me if I’d ever tried walking in our house like this. It really is gross so who am I to judge her. The aftermath of the party must be hell. The thought of feeling the wet dirty carpet against my toes makes me want to gag. Man, I don’t want to be here.

Passing through the archway, almost knocking into someone who very much gave off mallrat energy, I am greeted to the most filled space yet. The ugly island in the middle of the cramped space was scattered with alcohol, red plastic cups, and the occasional shot glass. A group of girls are crowded around it talking and pouring themselves drinks. A dude with shaved blonde hair and no shirt was looking through the fridge, picking up stuff and putting them back again.

The fridge here is a stark contrast to the one at home. No magnets, stickers, coupons, or photographs that lined it from top to bottom. Cabinets are a dark laminate wood and you could just barely see the wallpaper behind them. In the corner was the landline. Bright orange, standing out against the neutrality and darkness of the rest of the kitchen. Someone was already using it.

They had one finger twisted around the phone's cable and kept whispering into the phone with a smile and bit lip. How the hell the other person on the line heard anything with all the music blasting, I would never know. I stood near them awkwardly waiting for them to stop talking. My arms are crossed and foot taps repeatedly against the floor tile. I sent them glances hoping they’d get the hit that I needed it. The glances they sent back were less friendly.

A song later, they finally hang up and call me an asshole. Immediately, I go up and pick up the phone. After I punch in our home phone’s number, I pray that Briggs isn’t the one who’ll pick up. One ring. Two rings. And—

“Hello?” Thank god. 

Her voice is tired; the TV in the background almost drowns it out from how soft it is. 

“Yeah hey,” My body shifts a bit. I really hate having to do this. “Me and Isabel aren’t going to be home for a while.”

“Eren?” Coming home at odd hours of the night wasn’t anything new for me. I never call to tell her I’m alright, but since I got Isabel wrapped up in this I figure it’s necessary. “Why what’s happened? What’s with all that music?” My mom was always good at telling if I was lying. It would just be worse if I told her anything but that. 

Shutting my eyes closed forcefully, I try to quickly formulate the best way to explain the situation without saying where I am. 

“I’m helping a friend out. And uh, since we were going to be driving around, I thought that I could spend some time with Izzy. At the same time. Two birds one stone, you know.” 

“But don’t worry she’s safe. I’m not letting her get into any trouble.” I add on.

“Eren, it’s not Isabel I’m worried about,” The scene at home of her was clear in my mind. She was probably leaning over the counter staring down at the old granite, one hand on it to keep her balanced. Her other hand gripping the phone, and her brows furrowed trying to prevent yet another migraine. At least that’s what I imagine she looks like right now. “I trust you with making sure Isabel is safe. But Eren, I—, I worry about you. All the time.”

“I’m not him.” She doesn’t say anything for a bit. And she takes a deep breath and sighs. It was cruel of me to say; internally I know that. But the words were already said and I can’t take them back.

“Baby, stay safe, alright?” Then she’s gone. And I hate myself just a little bit more.

After she hangs up, I make no move to put the phone back. It stays pressed between my shoulder blade and my cheek. The dial tone rings in my ear. How long would this last? Son of a man trapped in a prison he made for himself; before I even took a breath he built me one too. I was resigned to my fate. 

My memories of him are vague and the pictures of him were left with all the other items my mom no longer wanted. Sometimes I forget he isn’t dead. He’s out there. Somewhere. Most likely fucking up more people’s lives. In the rare times she’d drink, mom would say that he’s probably decided to change himself, become a better man, for another woman. For another family. Another kid.

Or maybe he did get himself killed. Part of me hopes so. Makes it easier not to wonder; to think about the what-ifs. He left the soil of this country before I could even conceive of his existence. How poetic would it be if he was rotting somewhere six feet under soon after.

I want someone to blame for this. Who’s at fault for me to feel like shit while I lay my head on the wall with my eyes glazed over? My mother, my father, the man who almost became my mom’s second husband, the man who did? My brain and it’s fucked up chemicals? Or the many, many other things that messed me up.

My life only had a couple of trajectories it could go. College seems like a long shot. Jail, of course, seems highly likely at this point. Or, even worse, I could force myself to date women. Accidentally knock one of them up, marry them, become a shitty father despite my promises to myself to be a better one than my dad. 

But, when I think of a future where I could be happy, I dream of loneliness. I’d be somewhere far away from Nevada. I have this recurring nightmare. Not the kind with monsters, unless you count me. I’d leave everyone behind and banish them from my thoughts; Isabel and ma’ included. And I was happy. Happier than I’d ever felt before. I tried not to think about what that meant.

And one day, the door would open and it’d be Isabel or mom and they’d tell how the other was dead and it was my fault. They knew all the secrets I kept. And now they were dead, and they never really knew me. And it was my fault.

Guilt. I feel guilty constantly. If anger is what reigns, then guilt is the one pulling the strings. Moments before I was just with Isabel, and here I was contemplating how much better my life would be without her. It was wrong. I felt wrong. Everything is wrong.

None of these thoughts of mine were special, unique, or extraordinary. I’m sure similar statements have been shared between every depressed teenager who hates where they live. 

I should check up on Isabel.

“Eren.”

I really should check up on Isabel. 

“Eren.”

But I don’t want to leave this spot. I don’t want to let go of this phone, or leave this moment.

“Eren!” a hand snaps in front of my face. My eyes start to focus again and see someone who is very much not Annie.

Somehow, Ymir doesn’t look much different than the last time I saw her. Though at the time I was more busy looking at the blood on my hands than to try and get one last good look at her. She had to turn her head slightly up to look me in the face. Seeing someone from one of my old schools was just my luck.

“Well, shit. It’s actually you.”

“You go here?” Seeing her was messing up my brain to mouth filter. “I’m surprised you even managed to graduate high-school.”

“Uh huh, be an ass. Maybe I didn’t show up all the time, but I passed my classes. And now, yours truly, is a psych major. All A’s, baby.”

“You as a therapist? I feel bad for the poor bastards who end up with you giving advice.”

“Hey, I’m excellent at giving advice. And therapists aren’t a fucking advice column.” Fair enough. I just hum in response.

“You know, of all the people, you’re one of the last I expected to crash. At least not in this way,” She brings up her hand to my face, between her index finger and thumb she holds an unlit blunt. “You look like you need a hit.”

“Is that your recommended prescription, Doctor?” I say pushing her hand away.

“Your loss. And, fuck you too,” She pauses momentarily. “Also, psychiatrists prescribe shit, not psychologists, genius.

“You’re still in school, right?” She gestures, with her currently unoccupied hand, for me to follow her out of the kitchen. So I do. It seems like I’m doing a lot of following today.

“Yeah, uh, a senior at Central.” Here we go. I scratch the back of my head. Why can’t we go back to talking about her.

“Wow, when you fuck up, you really fuck up,” before I can say anything, she pats me on the back, hard. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you talk about it.”

Ymir opens a door and leads me into the dining room. Then in a very her way, tells someone to get out of their seat. They quickly scramble out of the room. She pulls out a chair and does a little bow.

“M’lady, your chair.”

“Die.”

“Not a chance, gay boy,” She takes chair next to the one she offered me, and leans forward to grab a shot glass and the tequila from the middle of the table. “You want a drink?” 

I stare at the shot glass.

After that I’m not sure how much time passed. All I know is that my head is pressed against the table, I’m only lightly buzzed, and Ymir is talking my ear off. Despite my grievances with her, she’s always been straight with me. No dancing around stuff, manipulation, or lies. I didn’t have to read between the lies with her. 

After the incident, it felt like she was the only one who really got it; Why I went that far.

But the fact that she knows what happened is putting me on edge. We moved out to Hell to get away from that. She hasn’t mentioned it, I know she wants to. What’s left unsaid between us festers and with each second my pulse beats a little bit faster and my mind gets filled with more and more bad ideas.

“You know, I hated your gay ass in high-school,” She made that apparent. Ymir put her arm around me and squeezed a little too hard. To outside ears, her ‘gay’ comment comment probaly sounded like she was just an offhandedly insulting me. I knew better that she meant no malice behind her words. “But fuck man—if I knew you we’re this fun I would’ve made you my friend sooner.”

“Ha. Like I would’ve let that happen,” I said, shrugging off her arm. Gaydar is one thing, but Ymir is like, psychic. She took one look at me and a few other people back at our old school, and somehow she knew. “You were, like, mean to everyone. Well, you still are.” 

“Oh wow, pot’s calling the kettle black,” She put her arm back around me and at that moment I just accepted that she was going to keep squishing me. “You, and all your little friends, and everyone who meets me are just mad ‘cause I read your asses. ‘cept Annie—You came with her right? Oh shit wait, I remember last year when she forced me to go hiking with here and she got mad at me for telling—”

“Shut up, you tall fuck.” Annie said as she clapped her hands onto Ymir’s shoulders, and in turn making Ymir grip harder. Finally, Ymir lets go of me and instead unsuccessfully tries to pry Annie’s hands off her.

“Annie, I know you can’t get enough of me but this shit kinda hurts.” It’s difficult to see from how I’m sitting but a ghost of a smile is on Annie’s face.

“Ugh. Eren, go to the car. I’ll meet you there soon.” She says ignoring Ymir and throwing the car key on the table.

“I assume this means you’re not going to be murdered tonight?” Ymir raises a brow and gives me a questioning look.

“Well see. The night’s still young.” And like many other times tonight, she turns to leave.

“What, no kiss goodbye?” Annie gives Ymir the finger as she walks out.

◎◎◎

The car was empty and Isabel was nowhere in sight. The backseat had the mess she left of homework, pencils, empty water bottles and wrappers, but nothing that made it seem like she was taken by force. So she didn’t listen and left the car despite what I said. That kid was going to be the death of me. 

Theoretically, a fourteen year old wearing a blindingly bright jersey shouldn’t be hard to find. But Izzy, if anything, loves defying expectations. More people had showed up since we got here, so that was an extra headache. I couldn’t even keep my promise to keep her safe. The one thing Mom trusted me to do.

I check around the whole front yard, and push myself back into the house. My eyes dart back and forth as I look everywhere for her figure. 

And then I hear it. 

“Oh my god! She’s, like, sooo small. Helena, look how cute she is!” Oh my god, is right. There in the living room lounging on the couch was Isabel with a sandwich in her hands, surrounded by drunk sorority girls.

“I mean, I’m perfectly average height for my age, but I’ll take the compliment.” Isabel takes another bite of her sandwich.

“Who the fuck is this?” The guy who was rummaging in the fridge earlier.

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a big deal. This guy meant nothing and there were better ways to deal with this. At this moment, none of that mattered. I’ve been building up this frustration. Egging Nolan on over and over, nearing the boiling over point but never quite getting there. Annie manipulating me into coming, Yimir’s unexpected appearance, the drinking, thinking Isabel was gone. All the memories coming back. It was bound to happen. It was only a question of when. 

I guess the answer is now. 

The blond is still talking, and doesn’t even notice me walking towards him with my fist clenched. I take my eyes off him just once and I falter. On the wall behind him is Ymir. She was giving me the exact same look she did on that day. Judging me.

My mind is brought back when one of the girls tells the guy to fuck off. I guess deciding it wasn’t worth it, the guy leaves. Just like that the situation is diffused and I almost made it worse. It almost happened again. 

Isabel still hasn’t spotted me. My feet don’t move and my eyes are still glued to the spot where Ymir had stood, though she was no longer there.

“Hey, Hulk” Ymir’s voice was in my ear and her hand on my shoulder “ I’ll get Isabel some more food and get her back in the car. Go cool off.”

“I don’t think you were wrong. Just, try and think of the consequences. If not for your sake then for hers.” She adds.

I take Ymir’s advice and go sit in the car, and close my eyes. After I chug my second water bottle I see Annie on the lawn with two people. She’s yelling, the conversation is muffled and I can’t make out any words she's saying. My instinct is to go over and do something, but after what happened in the house I don’t know if I can trust myself.

Annie walks away towards me glowering and her fists clenched. She opens the passengers side of the car, gets in, and slams it shut. She looks like she’s about to say something but then she looks at the backseat, confused.

“Where’s the kid?”

“Inside, with Ymir. She’ll be out soon, I guess.” I roll down the window and take out my pack and the lighter Mr. Ackerman gave me. No longer able to resist the urge for Isabel’s sake, I light one up.

“You look like shit.”

“So, do you.”

When Isabel got back in the car, I put out my cigarette and didn’t mention that she left. There was no reason to be mad at her. It was my fault. Ymir waves us off and then we’re back on the road. Annie and Isabel talk among each other. After about four songs played on the radio and Isabel’s voice was no longer heard, I looked up in the rear view mirror and saw her fast asleep.

“Hey Eren, when we were on the road earlier, did you notice it?” Annie's voice was raspy and she had dark circles around her eyes. Her head was resting on her hand, and her elbow on the car door. “I didn’t want to mention it around Isabel.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” I’m still mad at her. This day was too long and my head was pounding.

“The black car that was behind us for most of the way. I thought it was following us but it disappeared once we got in town.”

OCTOBER 

Mr. Ackerman wasn’t the best teacher I’ve ever had. 

He didn’t speak like you expected an English teacher to. He didn’t always make sense, and I always felt like there was something I was missing. His words weren’t eloquent. He’d ignore the other teacher’s insistence not to swear in front of us.

He doesn’t bother correcting us when some of us use any sort of vernacular that wasn’t widely accepted or when our enunciation wasn’t right. The girl next to me once asked him why, and he said “I can teach you how to write, how to construct a thesis, analyze text and think critically. Or I can drain all the personality out of your words. I can’t do both.” 

He wasn’t the best teacher I’ve had, but he’s one everyone would actually listen to. Even Nolan, who had made it very clear outside of class how much he didn’t link him, respected Mr. Ackerman. For once in his privileged life he did what he was told.

And then there’s that freshman. Falco. He was pretty good at writing, I guess, so they let him take English classes with the seniors. He stuck to me like a leech after our conversation in the cafeteria. When English class would end he'd always wait by the door so he could walk out with me. By now hearing the sound of his footsteps next to me felt natural. 

It wasn’t until a couple days into October until he asked where I went during lunch. I wasn’t like I was purposefully avoiding the kid, it just never crossed my mind that he’d want to come with. So I told him.

Annie still showed up at our usual spot everyday, but it wasn’t the same. On the surface everything seems the same between us but there was an unspoken tension. Looking at her still made me kind of pissed off. The grudge I had against her because of the party still felt fresh. 

Falco showed up with his lunch in hand the very same day I told him about the bleachers. And once again Me and Annie’s whole brooding next to each other dynamic got shaken up. I’m just glad it wasn’t because Annie had another field trip she wanted to go on. 

Afterschool, I was walking out of the parking lot, to get Isabel like usual. And I heard it. Two guys yelling. I thought it was directed towards me, so I walked faster. Then I realized that they were talking to someone else. Falco.

I hated it. I hated seeing that shit. Falco getting pushed around over a bag of chips. After the incident at the last school. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t go back to fighting again. Losing my friends, like that hurt and all but,  _ nothing _ compared to seeing how much my mom had to spend for us to move, so I could switch schools. It hurt seeing the way Briggs treated her for raising such a shitty son, the look she gave me, and having to see Isabel start over at a new school.

So I looked away, not wanting to see what would happen. As I did, the hair on my arms stood up and I got the feeling that someone was looking at me. Through the second story window, I could see Mr. Ackerman in his class room, looking down at me. He was disappointed in me. Realistically, I know I couldn’t actually see the expression on his face but I just got that feeling. Maybe it was because I was disappointed in me. 

The next day in English class I avoided eye contact with him.

“Anybody can learn to think, or believe, or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel.” Whenever he looked up, it was never at me. But every word felt like he was singling me out.

“The moment you feel, you're nobody―but yourself―in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else―means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight, and never stop fighting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TUMBLR](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bloodlied) \- [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BLOODLIESD) \- [RIVAERE COLLECTION](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/best_rivaere)
> 
>   
> Ah, I had said that most of this fic wouldn't have any of the 104th squad, but I should've have clarified that I meant "No 104th squad characters, except the titan shifters". Which is not a big deal, but I thought I'd correct myself. Annie and Ymir were a blast to write. Originally, Ymir wasn't going to be as involved in this story—or this chapter to be honest—but her interactions with Eren and Annie are just too good for me not to bring her back at some point. I imagine a friendship between the three of them would be a little hostile and very chaotic.
> 
> Next chapter things are going to get exciting and the plot is finally going to ramp up. I'm already looking forward to coming back to all these chapters and editing and making them more consistent.
> 
> Per usual, comments are always appreciated! I know not much has happened and probably not much to theorize on, but regardless I'd be interested in hearing your theories. Oh, and if you have any requests (smut/kink wise) let me know and there is a chance I might use it in some of the upcoming chapters.
> 
> [Oh, and the quote at the end is by E. E. Cummings. I might change it to another quote later if I find one that works better.]


	4. BULLSEYE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Oh, what morals some people will give up to get their dick wet.”_
> 
> Things are heating up. A few of the schools star players disappear and the cops are on everyone’s asses. And Eren? He’s not bothered. He’s getting into his own unique type of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Other pairings:** Explicit Marlow/Eren  
>  **Warnings:** smoking, drugs, violence, very brief mention of rape (not done by or to eren or levi)  
> finally made it to 20k!! i’m so happy! and on top of that, i wrote my first smut scene.
> 
> oh and the marlow/eren scene starts at “Not sure how this arrangement started”. Just skip to the next scene break or “With Marlow gone,” if you don't want to read it.

“Tell me _boy_ , where were you Sunday night?” Sheriff Young managed to pull off saying ‘boy’ in a way that sounded like an insult. 

Mrs. Young knows my name but I guess I don’t deserve to hear it pass her lips. She always looked at me with utter disdain that she didn’t seem to hold for most of the students. Even students she’d decided were guilty based on appearance. 

My back pressed further into the chair. The principal was sweating bullets behind her desk with her hands folded. Both of the women and the other officer were getting impatient. Hundreds of kids and a few teachers had been interviewed before me and they had many more to talk to. They probably don’t have any leads. 

I’m not guilty and they’d have to be stupid to think I was. Though that’s probably the same thing many have said before being accused. Truthfully I was sleeping. I didn’t go to the dock that day and instead opted to pass out as soon as I got home. So I told them exactly that — except the part about my nighttime activities. 

The sheriff grilled me. Asking me a bunch of more fruitless questions. Then she let me leave the principal's office. Finally. 

The whole situation was insane. There was a party at Hitch's house up on East Corbett, the wealthy part of town — Sunday night like Young said. I didn't have the pleasure of being invited. Not that I would've gone. Vince Adkins, I think that's his name, he's the star linebacker. Him, one of the defensive back-ups and one of the catchers on the baseball team, Wesley and Hartman, were expected of course. But they never showed up. Which, I guess, is a big deal. Big enough of a deal that their parents called the cops when they didn't show up that morning. Decidedly, they didn't take their sweet time like usual and got on the case right away. Figures.

Wasn't much longer till they found Adkins's Ford parked on the side of the road. The windows were down, seats completely empty and the radio was still playing. It wasn't till they started searching the back seat that they heard banging. The three of them were stuffed in the back of the truck. They'd been bound, gagged and knocked unconscious.

They were taken to the hospital and their memories of what happened were hazy. But what they could remember...that's where things start to make absolutely no sense to me. They were smoking up when someone just grabbed Wesley in the passenger seat and dragged him out the window. Hartman was in the back seat and saw it happen. One second Wesley is talking about something stupid and then, poof — He’s dragged out of the car by some unholy force.

One person dragging Wesley out the car by themselves. Yeah, that’s not possible. We’re talking absolutely fucking yolked football players; over two hundred pounds worth of fat and muscle, and one person managed to do that? Adkins and Hartman got out of the car after that. Then there’s this talk of a shadow man in the trees that both of them swear they saw. 

That’s all they remember before they found themselves in the trunk barely able to count to three.

Well, that's what I heard at least. Some from the actual guys’ mouths or their friends as they recount the story — Funny how much people will say right in front of you, if you’re quiet enough. The other info was just rumors going around. How much of it is true, I'm not sure. But they say that there is always at least a little truth in rumors and lies. Considering how high out of their minds all of them were I’m not sure what to believe.

Next thing everyone knows, there’s word going around about Adkins’ locker being vandalized. A bullseye; two four concentric circles drawn with a permanent marker. And a line cutting through it. Then they found it on Wesley’s locker. Then Hartman’s. The girl who sits in front of me during Physics says she saw it on their lockers before the three of them got jumped. They all just laughed it off. It was a warning some people are saying. But that’s all hearsay.

And now the cops are here. Interviewing every student and staff member they can find. None of them put it together that it was him. How could they. I was the only one who knew the connection. 

◎◎◎

Weeks later nobody was still able to make sense of the bullseye or the attack. 

So the guys on the football team blamed Rosewood, the closest school to ours. We all live in Hell but we gotta have someone to be rivals with I guess. Football was something I understood even less than baseball. It’s less popular than baseball; probably is one of the few places in this country where that’s true — Maybe that’s why they’re antsy to start shit. Second fiddle to a sport that they’re supposed to be more important than.

Regardless, things have been getting out of hand between schools. Fights off grounds, constant vandalism, the whole works. I’ve managed to stay out of it. I know enough that if you go across town repping Rosewood, you’re bound to find trouble. Besides, I knew better than to blame them.

Adkins, Wesley, and Hartman. I must’ve not seen Hartman at the time, hidden by the other two, I guess — he’s not small, but he is the smaller of the bunch. Once I put that together it was obvious. All three of the guys — those were the ones who picked on Falco that day in the parking lot. 

I sure as fuck didn’t drag one of them out of a car beat them up. Falco, well, it’s even more obvious that he couldn’t have pulled it off. Kid has about the muscle mass of a twig and the timidness to match. Sometimes when the wind blows I worry that he’s gonna fly away… But that man. That’s much more plausible.

Mr. Ackerman was there and saw it all go down. He doesn’t look anything like the football players; not built to mindlessly ram into another equally massive guy. He’s short. But, he’s certainly not skinny. Even with me always avoiding looking at him and his shirt covering him up, well, it was easy to tell there’s a lot of muscle he must be hiding underneath it all. If someone told me he used to be a Navy SEAL, I would believe it. 

But that means my English teacher is going around on weekends beating up seniors. Fucking wild. 

If someone asked me what the worst part of my life is, my answer wouldn't be Briggs or the guys at school, it’d be the repetition. Sure, my life has gotten arguably worse as the years go by but nothing has changed. Not really. I still wake up unhappy, repeat the same routine unhappily, then I’ll go to sleep. Sometimes, some rare times, I’ll get a change of pace and a good dose of dopamine. But really what’s the point. I’ll still wake up the next day unhappy.

I think it’s the wall. It’s beige now. The last place I lived it was an ugly wallpaper that was probably there since the fifties. Beige or wallpaper, doesn’t matter. I wake up on my side, one arm around a pillow, and it’s the first thing I see. An inescapable feeling of dread and the desire to punch the wall. I always make sure it’s bare and free of posters. I can’t stand the sound of the paper hitting the ground. Makes me want to pull my hair out. 

Of all the things to get on my nerves, I know, it’s stupid.

I also think it’s the washer and dryer. It’s constantly rattling outside the room when I wake up. They’re in the hallway closet right next to my room. It’s somehow always there no matter where we move. The clothes beat against the machines over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over andoverandoverand—

Nolan, an unpredictable as he might think he is, is just the opposite of that. Complete and utterly predictable. The chase and the anger he made me feel was exciting but a part of me knows it’ll get boring fast once he decides he is not going to ignore me anymore. He’s left me alone, for now. His pea brain hasn’t got the best memory. He’ll get over it. He’ll go back to how he was. People like him always do. Creatures of habit. 

And Marlowe? He’s replaceable. There was a guy before him and they’ll be a guy after him. 

Annie and Falco. Friends. They come and go. But of all the things that repeat, the sap in me hopes they stay.

My point is, everything in my life has been a constant repeat of the same shit just different day, or people, or walls, or homes. But if I’m right, that he’s the one doing this and committing some sort of vigilante justice — it’s a one and a lifetime type of excitement. A change — a high — that I may never experience again.

And the bastard — and I say this in the fondest way possible — is at it again. I’m standing in a crowd of students around the newest target’s locker. Flynn Morgan. All the students around me are just waiting for him to show up, see how he reacts. He’s not a football or baseball player, not like last time. Honestly, he’s worse than the last three. 

People love him for some reason. He’s fun — he’s cool, he parties hard and drinks even harder. How could you hate him? That’s what people say. Or something like that. 

Last year there was a freshman, Robbie Donahue. She, well, went to a party — no idea who’s it was — but Flynn got her smashed. Yeah, I’m sure you can guess the rest. Even worse he had a camera. Took pictures and showed everyone who’d look. She had to move out of town. Before that, though, I heard her dad took it real bad and beat the shit out her.

Flynn got out of it scot-free, meanwhile she had to endure even more pain — from her family no less. But, yeah, Flynn is so cool and nice and fun. 

The students parted as he tried to push through to his locker. As soon as he saw the bullseye, he lost his shit. He started screaming and begging for someone to help him. Nobody really could do anything though. It was kinda funny.

I hear a quiet laugh beside me. Flynn’s breakdown was so loud that I probably only heard it. Mr. Ackerman. Arms crossed, he’s leaning against the locker, legs crossed. He wasn’t even looking at the spectacle. No point, I was even having a hard time seeing it with my height. But he’s looking right at me and I don’t want him to ever look away.

“Shouldn’t you be dealing with that,” I nod my head towards Flynn freaking out.

“No point. Some other teacher will be here soon enough. Just enjoying the show while I can.”

My eyes move from his gaze to the floor. I swallowed loudly and took a shaky breath before I responded, “It’s a shame he didn’t face any consequences till now.”

He didn’t say anything, only did another one of his quiet laughs and pushed himself off the locker. He turned the opposite direction of me and placed his right hand on my left shoulder and gave it a squeeze. It felt like my heart was being squeezed too.

Mr. Bozado eventually came and tried to calm Flynn down. Tried. Not that I really cared. My mind was on cloud nine.

◎◎◎

A couple days later and Flynn was nowhere to be found — Thank god. His parents filed a missing persons report but everyone just figures he got the fuck out of town. His friends keep saying he probably went to Reno with his girl — supposedly a stripper he hooked up. Probably a lie on his part but he had an image to keep up. Sucks that even with him gone, people still praise him like when he was here.

Grabbing the bottom of my white tee, I bring it to my nose. The smell of gasoline made a home in it, despite me washing it multiple times. Trying to distract myself, my days were now spent more and more in the loading dock working on the Cutlass. Idle hands and all that. I pretty much gave up on attempting to fix the bike. In the end with the amount of damage, it’d be cheaper to just buy one second hand.

With a sigh, my hands let go of the shirt. 

Ma’ wanted to ask about the smell. It was written all over her face when she’d narrow her eyes when I would pass by her. The house already smelled like tobacco. Sometimes it felt like it was ingrained in every piece of furniture. So, I never got any flack from smoking because as far as she knew I wasn’t the culprit. But smelling like gasoline every night and not getting back till the middle of the night? Not condemning, but suspicious. 

Whatever. It doesn’t really matter.

Maybe I should skip. The thought repeated over and over in my mind as I walked through the locker room and pushed the door open with my shoulder. Going to English class always made me feel an overwhelming sense of dread in my stomach. Not because of Mr. Ackerman — the air between us, it’s changed. No longer tense, not in the same way. Something I can’t quite pin down. 

Really it was that Falco started sitting right next to me lately during class. I feel less guilty now that I know that Vince and his friends got what they deserved, but I can’t help but still feel bad that I wasn’t the one to do it. I’m not strong enough. I’m never strong enough.

Yeah, I’m skipping.

I walked past the closed class door. Mr. Ackerman's unmistakable voice could be heard through it; muffled by the barrier between us. Still, the sound of it made me shiver in a way that I don’t want to think about. I go past all the other class doors. Past the lockers. Past the gleaming glass cases filled with trophies and pictures of old teams and their names — Many of them all too familiar. I make sure not to look at the trophy that has my last name engraved on it.

Trying to leave the school grounds was a bad idea and I really wasn’t in the mood for full on delinquency today. No point in getting in trouble. I found my way to the nurse’s office — Well, part time nurse. They can’t afford him and all the others full time. To my surprise, sitting on the edge of one of the beds with a cloth pressed to her nose, was Annie. She looked up at me for a second, but stayed silent. Like usual.

“Surprised that anyone managed to land a hand on you. And, can I lay there? It’s kinda the only bed.” I said while I set my backpack down. I didn’t want to say it — I know worrying would probably just annoy her — but seeing her hurt like this kinda scared me. Even she’s not invincible.

She snorted at my words and moved towards the head of the bed, just enough so that I could get on it. Her words muffled slightly by the cloth she responded, “Be my guest. And nobody _landed a hand on me_.” She deepened her voice saying the last part; a poor imitation of my voice.

I move to lay on the bed. Her back is facing me so I can’t see what face she’s making, but I like to imagine that she was glaring. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, I just get nosebleeds sometimes. Dehydration or whatever. It’s too fucking dry in this shitty state. So don’t like, ugh, worry about me. And don’t say you’re not. You don’t know how to hide your feelings as good as you think you do. You gross sap.”

“Well, if someone had I’m sure they’d end up ten times worse off.” I said, ignoring her insults. I pause. 

“You’re…from out of state?” I hesitantly guess. A good chunk of people in Nevada aren’t born here, so it wasn’t really surprising. Usually they lived closer to all the action in the strip. 

“Why are you even talking to me? Aren't you supposed to be mad at me? Or are you done acting like I ran over your cat.” 

“I don’t have a cat.”

“I wasn’t being literal, dummy,” Annie glanced quickly back at me with her brows furrowed and her shoulders tensed. “You know, I’m fine with you being mad at me, I didn’t ask to be your friend, but you don’t need to ignore Falco too.” 

I went in here to get my mind off things. Not talk about my feelings.

“I’m not — it’s not related to you. I just feel...guilty.”

“Did you hurt him? Were you mean to him? Did you actually do anything other than ignore him? ”

“No, but I —” But that’s the point. I didn’t do anything.

“Then stop being an idiot. He doesn’t need your pity. You’re the one who decided to let him in.” She took a deep sigh. “I don’t know your reasons but it doesn’t matter. Don’t ignore the kid. You’re hurting him more by staying away.”

Maybe she’s right. 

I look at the posters on the wall. Things like ‘MAKE AN EFFORT NOT AN EXCUSE’ and ‘BE HONEST! AND WORK HARD’ were plastered all over. Ha.

“Hey, Annie,” The cartoon drawings of teachers, cops, and doctors looked at me with their hypocritical gazes. “We’re friends?” 

She told me to shut up. Then a long pause. 

“You know…it’s getting colder. I know you Nevadans have fragile skin and cry at slight breezes. You don’t have a car, so I’d be fine with driving you and Isabel home. Falco suggested it.” I’ll take that as a yes. 

“Awww, that’s so sweet. Now who’s the sap?” 

“Your dumbass can freeze. I’m doing it for Izzy and Falco. You’re just cargo.”

Sure.

We spent the rest of the time in silence. I’m pretty sure she stopped having a bloody nose a while back and is only staying for my sake. Eventually I actually took a nap, and I told her. She still stayed.

I woke up when someone slammed the door open. I sat straight up at the sound. Annie even looked a little startled at the suddenness. She no longer sat on the bed and instead in the chair by the bed. Her hand suddenly stopped writing once she looked over at the door.

“Hey, Eren — Oh, and…Annie? — I couldn’t find you anywhere. You, uh, weren’t near the cafeteria earlier. For lunch,” Marlow said, his hair a little sweaty and sticking a little over his face. He ditched his bowl cut last year and grew it out a little bit. He looked a lot less stuck up than he used to. Though his personality stayed the same.

“I need to talk to you about our, uh, project,” He pointed his thumb behind him, towards the hallway. I could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. For someone so smart, he's really shit at lying.

Ah, man. Nap times over. I get out of the bed and sling my backpack over my shoulder. 

“Guess that’s my cue to leave. And Annie? Halloween is in a couple weeks.” I give her a wide smile. She puts down her notebook and her gaze flickers to me then Marlow briefly. 

“Yeah, no shit. I couldn’t tell from all the decorations everywhere,” she points to said decorations around the nurses office.

“We could use that pickup of yours to drive around town.”

“Using me for my car now? Hmph. You better ask Falco to come too.”

“I plan on it,” While I walk out the door I turn, give Annie a two-finger salute, turn back and leave. 

Marlow gave me a look as we left together. 

“What?” 

“Ah, nothing. Just…nothing.”

◎◎◎

Not sure how this arrangement started between me and Marlow. A pack for me getting on my knees, and if I was feeling particularly shitty I’d let him fuck my thighs for some weed. Not that I didn’t enjoy our sessions, but I get enough shit for not denying that I’m gay. No need to get caught with the school president’s cock down my throat.

You’d think someone would lock the sports equipment shed, with how obsessed everyone was with baseball here. Other than each other, me and Marlow’s only company was shelves, and dust. We never risked turning on the light. Only sunshine from underneath the door, and a small barred window in the front were our sources. It wasn’t odd for people to sneak in here to smoke weed or a quick hookup. Considering Marlow’s rep, one would think either would be far fetched for him. 

Marlow’s on the school's little drug busting squad, which sounds more serious than it actually is, considering most of them were either drug pushers themselves or friends with them. Marlow being the exception, and me being the exception of his exception. Oh, what morals some people will give up to get their dick wet.

In a post-orgasm haze, he had once admitted to me he actually joined because he thought he could get the school to get more resources for students with addictions. Arm around my waist, leading me to the spot behind one of the shelves that had enough light for us to see each other while out of the windows line of site, here Marlow was fueling my addiction, once again. 

We never talk about what we’d say if someone walked in on us.

Pushing me up against the wall, Marlow’s mouth immediately starts sucking on my neck and feeling me up. Kissing on the mouth was off limits; we weren’t star-crossed lovers in a romance novel. His hand brushed up and down my back. While he bites my shoulder he kneads my ass through the fabric of my jeans.

“That’s enough. Last thing I need is my neck all bruised up,” I shove him off me, though with no real force behind it.

I sank down between Marlow’s legs. The hard floor pressed into my knees, shifting a bit to try and to get them a slightly less painful position. If I’d keep this up, they’ll be fucked up before I graduate college unless I find a guy who won’t make me hide in an equipment shed when I blow him.

“Mmm, I’m doing this on short notice,” I try to make my voice more raspy, like he already fucked my throat raw. My hands reach under his shirt, making circles around his stomach, and then move down to his crotch. Eyes wide, I look straight up at him, fully making eye contact while I palm his dick through his jeans. The rough fabric grazed against my palm and his dick made itself more and more present. “Maybe I should get a little more compensation this time?”

I bring my mouth near his crotch, holding his hips as leverage, and unzip his jeans with my teeth. As I pulled down his pants, his dick was already half hard and begging to be let out. Not yet, just a little longer. His breath starts to get shaky when my lips start grazing his dick through his boxers. A little dizzy, my heart started pulsating and my own length started to feel painful from the lack of attention. All this teasing, although my own doing, was getting to me. Internally I think we both knew that even if he told me right now that he wouldn’t give me any cigs after, I’d still wouldn’t leave. Pretending as if it was a chore was an act, one we both loved.

“Shit,” His breath hitched. Not able to wait any longer, I mouth his cock through his boxers, wetting the fabric. “Eren, whatever you want. Two packs, fuc—, five?”

Got em. 

Pulling down his boxers, revealed his cock, tip red and leaking precum. I was already salivating at the sight. I put my mouth on the tip, causing Marlow to jerk. The taste of the precum made me curl my toes. Carefully, I push my tongue around and in the slit. There’s a small thud against the wall; Marlow putting his head against the wall from the way he was breathing. Removing my mouth, I swipe my tongue across the side, savoring the feeling of the veins running against it.

Fingers wrapped around the base of the shaft, I curl my lips over my teeth, and guide it inside my mouth. As soon as my tongue touches the head, Marlow brings his hand that’s not resting on the wall behind me to my hair, fingers running through it and grazing my scalp. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes back at the sensation, and I moan into the taste of him.

Hallowing my cheeks, keeping my jaw slack, breathing from my nose. A list of things that are purely instinctual at this point. I slowly move forward. Humming, I focus on the sensation of his cock, the fullness stretching my mouth, the slight pleasent feeling of pain. I swirl my tongue around his dick while I work getting it to the back of my throat. As much as a part of me would love to just shove it down my throat, I knew starting off slow would be more enjoyable. 

I gag around his dick a bit as it nears the back of my throat. The sensation of his trimmed hairs brush against my lips, and I breathe in the smell of him and his shitty pine cologne. I move my head back and forward over and over, trying to get reacquainted with the feeling. I’ve heard people brag about not having a gag reflex. Missing out on this feeling? The tears pricking my eyes, fighting my instincts. Where’s the fun in skipping over that.

Forehead rested against the wall, sweating, Marlow, clearly tired of my slow pace takes over. His other hand joining him in grabbing my head, he jerks forward going back further down my throat. Delighted to let him use me, I hold on to him using one hand and slide the other under the band of my underwear. Slowly, I stroke my length, using the precum dripping from it to help. The heat of my palm, fingers moving up and down my shaft slowly; it’s been too long. 

Preoccupied with my own lust and choking on Marlow’s dick, I almost didn’t notice it. The movement in the corner of my eye. Marlow is still hammering into my mouth like his life depended on it while I looked over. At first it seemed like a shadow, but as my eyes adjusted to the light, I recognized that figure. The stature, the casual posture, the filled out shirt. 

Mr. Ackerman.

He was looking right at me, making no move to stop us so I kept going, both wanting to see how he’d react and not wanting to startle mister class president. Marlow’s eyes were closed and he was too preoccupied with gripping my hair to notice my attention off him. I’d call him a dumbass, but I’m pretty sure I’m having some weird sexual fantasy and hallucinating my English teacher.

My mouth sucks more fervently around Marlow and his grip tightens. Marlow started saying a blur of things, but it was all just background noise. 

Imaginary or not, I feel drunk off the attention. Mr. Ackerman shifts a bit, leaning on the shelf with his rolled up sleeves and arms crossed. Our eyes are locked, and he never even once spares Marlow a glance. His gaze has an intensity to it, picking me apart. As if he was trying to figure me out. But I wanted more of a reaction. See him take a harsh breath, drop that stuipd impenetrable composure.

Those hands. Scared and calloused, hinting at a past I desperately wanted to know. The way his thumb carrassed and circled around the back of his other palm. I wanted that to be me. And the way it felt when his hands were on my shoulder. I wanted that feeling again. In my hair, on my skin, in me, making me his.

God, maybe all the special attention he gave me before was getting to my head. Or maybe it was the possibility of who he could be. That he could be the one behind all the chaos that’s wrecked the town recently. 

This is just pathetic.

I wonder what his thoughts were at that moment, seeing one of his students like this. Let alone the student who never cared much for attention. Completely fucking average. nothing special. And now here I am getting my throat fucked raw. I’m pretty sure I’m drooling, and my lips must be red and swollen, eyes glazed over. 

Is he turned on? Disgusted? Wishes it was him? Maybe some fucked up combination of all of them.

Whatever. I hope he enjoyed the show.

◎◎◎

With Marlow gone, I let myself breathe, sounding more like I just ran a race than intended. Jackass left before actually helping me. Something about being late for a club meeting. So here I am. On the floor, leaning against the wall with my head back, pants around my knees, still hard. Wiping the back of my hand against my mouth, I turn to look at the peeping tom himself. My eyes feel heavy looking at him.

The first time since I saw him, Mr. Ackerman looked away. From his jacket he briefly pulls out a pack, putting it back once he got what he needed. Index and middle finger curled around it like a lover.

“Shit, this is sure as hell not what I expected when I came in here.” Mr. Ackerman’s words were a sort of drawl as he spoke. And he’s very, very, real. And he very, very, much just saw everything. My face heats up at the realization of what just happened and I hastily cover my dick.

He reached into his back pocket and took out a lighter. My lighter. The one I lost. Cobalt blue, with a tiger coiled around it looking up at whoever used it with judgement. Hidden away in a mountain of cardboard boxes, under old letters and cards, before I claimed it as mine. Now, it was being held in the hands of a man I so desperately wanted a moment ago. He struggled getting the light to stay. One click, two, three, and man successfully made fire once again. The hypnotizing glow emanates and reflects off of his face while the cigarette hangs between his lips.

Leaning back against the shelf, inhaling, smoke coming through his nose he looked at me again. As if he was trying to figure me out.

“That’s...mine.” My words were a struggle to come out. I sounded completely wrecked.

“Fate’s a strange thing, don’t you think? Because, this right here? It’s not yours.” With one hand, he tosses the lighter up and down. “It’s mine.” He throws it a little higher in this time, then snatches it mid-air. 

“It was for years,” He points at me. “And you, of all people, had it.” 

“I don’t, you — You’re the one who stole it.” What is he even talking about? 

“You’re still on that?” 

Silence. I shook my head and struggled to think of what to say. He’s fucking crazy.

“What are you doing in here — why are you still in here?”

“Ain’t that my line? I’m not the one who skipped class. And for what? Some cock? And not even a very impressive looking one at that,” With his free hand, he shows with his fingers an exaggeration of how small he thought Marlow’s dick was. About the size of a quarter, I guess. An awkward laugh escapes me. This was crazy.

I’ve suspected him of being the one behind all the bullseyes for weeks and here I was alone with him. The idea of it was thrilling and it still is, but I never thought of the possibility that I could be a target.

“Are you going to bound and gag me too?”

“Not unless you want me to,” He says, and I’m not sure if he was joking. And, yeah, well shit. I kinda did want him to. My hands still covering my crotch, I try to close my legs a little more. 

“You need help with that?” Mr. Ackerman's voice changes to something softer and he nods towards my dick. My mouth hangs open, unable to get myself to deny his help. 

He walks over by me and kneels next to me. One knee on the ground, eyes never looking away. I can only handle so much eye contact — Real eye contact with someone who’s actually there and close up. I try to keep my eyes focused on the bridge of his nose, not wanting to look him in the eye. But even that is too much and I shy away from his gaze. The baseball bats stacked on the shelf next to me were suddenly very interesting. Worn and wooden, stamped with pride by the company that made them. We humans, many millenniums later, are still just playing with sticks. Our primitive way of loving each other.

With his free hand, he puts his thumb on the front of my chin and hooks his other fingers underneath it, gently moving me to face him. I can feel my pulse drumming against my skull, and my breath was coming out a little erratically. He takes a long inhale of his cigarette, leans close enough that our noses are nearly touching, and blows the smoke into my mouth.

“Easy.” He says, his voice barely a whisper.

Fuck embarrassment. I start rutting against my hands that were still covering my erection and my face heats up even more.

“Want me to leave?” I shake my head. Not yet. I couldn’t stand the thought of him taking his hands off me.

“Want me to help you out?” I shake my head, indicating ‘yes’. “You’re going to have to be more clear on what you want than that.”

“Please,” my voice sounded higher-pitch, making me sound like one those twinks in the gay porn I had stashed away under my bed. “Touch me.”

He crushes the cigarette into the cement of the shed.

Putting his hands on my thighs, he opens my legs and removes my pants fully, tossing them somewhere behind him. the metal belt buckle clings against the floor. I’m still trying to gain some sort of release with my hands, but it just makes it worse. My teeth bite my lip to strife a moan. I probably look pathetic from an outside point of view. 

Now fully kneeling, he puts his hands right under the point where my thigh meets my ass, picking me up just enough so my thighs were resting on his and my long legs around him. My back was slumping slightly more in this position, making me have to look up at him. 

He starts rubbing his calloused hands up and down my thighs, never going far enough. His pale skin contrasting against my brown. My body feels hotter than it ever has, sweat running down my neck. A needy whine leaves my mouth from his teasing. Leaning forward, he presses his lips against my jaw, leaving a chaste kiss.

His lips trail kisses, under my jaw and down my neck. “Eren, you’re doing so good,” His lips brushed against my ear, the heat of his praises and his breathing felt like they were etched against my skin. His hands move lower, removing mine from my crotch and putting one of them around his neck. “You make such lovely sounds.”

“Please,” mumbling the word over non stop. I couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Ah, and you’re polite, too” he says with a breathy laugh.

“Open up,” he brings three of his fingers to my lips, and I obey and he sticks them between my lips. He watches as I hum around the fingers sliding in and out my mouth, drool falling down my chin. Slowly pulling out fingers with a pop, a thread of my hot saliva connecting between them and my lips. 

He brings our foreheads together so we can both look down and watch, our damp oil black hair sticking to each other. He pulls down my short black boxer briefs; My dick, still sticky with precum, freed and pressing against my stomach. The sensation of the air, and the anticipation only made it harder. 

His thumb and index finger, wet with my saliva, circles the head, barely making contact with my skin, then slowly goes down my length. The roughness of his fingers imprinting on my skin. The painful slowness of it all, made me wonder how his fingers would feel inside me. Teasing my rim, his tongue joining in, pulsing in and out of me. 

“Shit, shit.” I sound totally wrecked.

As he slowly strokes me, I repeat the same process of sucking on fingers, with my own. Once I’m sure they’re wet enough, I slip my hand underneath my shirt and start rolling my nipples. Imagining that they were Mr. Ackerman’s tongue instead. The dizzying heat in my body continued to envelop my body. My toes curled as I continued to touch myself, and his eyes glazed over as he watched.

“God, I want to fuck you so bad,” And then his mouth is on mine, pushing his tongue through my lips.

Being pressed against the wall, his tongue in my mouth, my hand on my chest, his hands touching my dick in ways I could never do to myself or get to feel remotely as good. I jerk into his hand. I wanted him to go faster, to do more, this teasing too was much. Taking the hint, he speeds up. I feel like I’m on cloud nine, and my vision gets hazier.

My abdomen tightens and I feel myself coming undone. All sorts of pleading words tumbled out of my mouth and my mind went completely white. I fall limp against the wall and barely am able to keep my arms around him. Both of our chests were heaving. It’s embarrassing how little it took for him to make me react like this. 

For a minute, it’s only our heavy breathing and the birds outside could be heard. Looking down, I see his own erection pressing against his pants. 

“Want me to help you out?” I say, though my words come out a little slurred; still feeling dazed. I remove my arm from around his neck. Before my hand reaches to unzip his pants, he grabs it. He presses his lips against my hand softly, much like he did earlier to the rest of my skin.

“Don’t worry about me. Next time.” 

Next time. There’s going to be a next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TUMBLR](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bloodlied) \- [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/BLOODLIESD) \- [RIVAERE COLLECTION](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/best_rivaere)  
> 
> 
>   
> 😳 sorry for the delay. i was off my meds (bad idea) for a while and had a rough time getting myself to write. don’t worry, i am back on them (great idea) and feel a lot better.
> 
> it was very weird to write a smut scene for a pairing i’m not a part of especially since i’m pretty much almost exclusively into levi/eren. which you wouldn’t be able to tell from the tags on this fic. though marlow is more of a piece of meat than anything in it. lmfao. sorry marlow <3
> 
> i’m really excited to post the next chapter. so excited that i’m already done writing 2k (out of only god knows what). so hopefully it won't take as long.


	5. S.H.I.T (SUGAR HONEY ICED TEA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii! There’s now some amazing art for the last chapter by bonemarrow ([twitter](https://twitter.com/BONEMARROW__/status/1361260345457745925), [tumblr](https://bonemarr0w.tumblr.com/post/643179912660992000/a-scene-from-the-fanfic-all-the-good-men-by))!! And! an update for why it’s been taking me so long to update at the end notes.
> 
>  **Warnings :** smoking, implied abuse

**A CIGARETTE** , lit with a haze of smoke pouring out, sat lazily between my lips as I tried not to think about how fucking bad my ankle hurt. I’m stuck at home for the whole weekend and the plastic of the shitty lawn chair against my back irritated my skin. All in all, I’m having shit luck; the only grace being the chill of the lazy desert wind that pricked my bare chest.

Before the whole blowing Marlow and getting a handjob from my English teacher, blowjobs were already something I loved doing. But pretending it was Mr. Ackerman’s dick instead. His hands grasping my hair. God. I nearly smoke a pack a day to keep myself from thinking about him watching me. Which only makes my urges worse. I can’t stop wishing it was his dick in my mouth instead of a cigarette. How much better it’d feel. What it looks like.

So I compensate by blowing Marlow, among other things, more and more. What once was a every couple weeks thing, is now every other day. If it was up to me I’d be daily. He said I’m sucking him dry; both his wallet and his dick.

I get horny, I smoke more, run out of cigarettes, go to Marlow, and think of Mr. Ackerman. A cycle I can’t seem to get myself out of. Mr. Ackerman pretending nothing happened doesn’t help. _I want to fuck you so bad_ , my ass. The man completely ignored me, my squirming and all my pleading looks throughout class.

I'm fidgeting constantly, and rubbing at the pocket that holds my cigarettes. Hell, I’m even tempted to risk getting in trouble and just lighting one during class. I’ve turned into a full blown addict and it’s all his fault. I’ll be lucky if I’m stuck in a hospital with lung-cancer no earlier than 30.

To top it all off I’m limping around with a crutch around my arm — sprained my fucking ankle tripping up my house’s shitty fucking uneven stairs. All because my shitty brain couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Ackermans stupid cock, and his stupid hands on my body, and his tongue in my mouth — Fuck. Fuck those stairs. Fuck my life. And most of all, and I mean this in the most pathetic way possible, I wish Mr. Ackerman would fuck me.

Maybe I should do it. Next time I’m in class just light one right in front of him, just to see what he does. Make him pay attention to me. Bad attention is better than none, and honestly? The thought of getting him mad, ah well, maybe I’m a bit of a masochist.

Shit. I take my now mostly used cig out of my mouth and push it into the concrete walkway. That’s what most of the backyard is made of — concrete — if you can call it a backyard at all. By all definitions it is technically a backyard but it’s only big enough for this shitty reclining lawn chair and that shithead Briggs’ sometimes beer-filled cooler that I’m not allowed to touch. The rest is just pebbles with a few succulent plants that were there when we moved in.

“Big Bro, we’re home!” Isabel yells loud enough from the front yard that the whole neighborhood could hear her. Knowing her crazy ass, she probably cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed the words as loud as her lungs would let her. Probably with a huge smile on her face too. I laugh a little to myself at that image.

Briggs is out of the house for the day and it’s Halloween. It’s a good day for Isabel. And really, she deserves to have some fun. Especially since next week is not a great time for her, for any of us. Isabel was only four when it happened. Her bio mother dying. She doesn’t remember anything, obviously, her being a toddler and all, but visiting the graveyard and hearing Ma’ talk about her. Yeah, it’s not a good week for her.

I was nine when Isabel’s mother died, my aunt. I pretty much block out anything before I was fourteen so my memory is just as hazy as Isabel’s. Everything about my aunt I only know through photo albums, my mom’s stories, and the visits to the hospital we used to take. Isabel’s father was gone by then. Skipped town a year before my aunt told anyone she was sick. Figures. Both of them were barely sixteen when Isabel was born.

Don’t remember much about the guy, just that the one time I saw him, I thought about how he looked nothing like Isabel. Ma’ says that us Magnolias have persistent genetics. Persistent and hard headed. Just like us, I guess.

I hear Isabel and Ma’ trample into the house. No Briggs. Isabel’s words loud even when she’s speaking softly and the unmistakable sound of my mother’s smooth voice. The footsteps get closer, and the clinking of the fridge door opening. The sounds of home.

The screen door slides open but I don’t bother looking.

“Figures you’re out here sulking with your tits out,” Isabel sits on the cooler next to me and takes a swig of her Coke. “How’s your ankle, Bro?”

What Isabel was really asking is if my sprained ankle is okay enough for trick or treating. She baffled me sometimes. Constant complaints that she’s too old for everything but not too old for something usually associated with children. It’s the one time where she doesn’t care about people treating her like a kid. Probably because she gets free shit and gets to overdose on candy.

“Shouldn’t you be helping Mom put away groceries?”

“Ugh, please come with me. I know you can’t help but it’s way more fun when it’s the three of us. I spent, like, three hours alone with her shopping. Love her to death, but you’re not there, we got nobody to make fun of.”

“Fine, but help me out of here. Getting up is a bitch, at the moment.” I sighed, sat up and gestured where my crutch was laying. She grabbed it and handed it to me.

“Hey, so, I was talkin’ to Annie,” Isabel put one hand around my back and clasped the other with my right hand with a resounding thud. Once I got my hand firmly around the crutch’s handgrip, she helped me to my feet.

“That’s never a good thing.”

“We’re doing themed costumes. All of us — You, me, Annie, and some other dude. Falco, or something,” Isabel opened the sliding door and I walked in. It led right into the kitchen. Ma’, with her curly hair down and bags under her eyes, looked over and gave us one of her small cherry chapstick smiles. Isabel rushed right over and grabbed the paper bags from her. “Help me and grab stuff from the bags, yeah?”

“How’d you convince Annie to do all that? And what happened to having matching costumes with my brother is embarrassing?” I pitched my voice a little higher, my best impression of her voice. She gave me a halfhearted glare and put the bag on the counter. I hobbled over, the crutches loud against the tile floor.

“Yeah, well, Annie’s cool. Did you know she plays guitar? And kickboxing? I bet her leg muscles are huge.” She said with amazement in her voice and a shine in her eye that’d say was a little love-struck. Mom laughs a little, something I haven’t heard in a while.

“Uh-huh, Romeo, keep your girl-crush to a minimum.” Not that I could really judge. I’d spent the weeks pining. Magnolias and our stupid, stupid, easily impressionable hearts. Though, I’m sure the way I’m thinking about Mr. Ackerman is completely different than how Isabel is for Annie.

Isabel’s ears went from her usual tawny-brown to redder than the carton of raspberries in her hand. She huffed and put the berries in the fridge, and then urged me to start handing her and Ma’ stuff. I oblige.

After everything was put away, and the paper bags folded up to use later, Isabel made us all go into our tiny living room that sat right across from the kitchen. Mom sat at the end of the couch, legs curled to the side, remote in hand, and flipping through the channels. I could tell from the little looks she’d give us that she was only half paying attention to the TV.

With Briggs gone for the day, and my ankle situation, the recliner was all mine. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt a little more conceited sitting here. Like Briggs’ evil back sweat was transferring from the chair to my brain. Gross.

Hands on her knees, staring eagerly at me, Isabel sat in the middle of the couch. Two plastic bags filled with clothes sat by her feet.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s this costume you got planned for me?” I say, finally giving in to her stares.

Isabel dives into the bag and pulls out an eyepatch. She presents it to me like it’s a piece of jewelry; one hand holding it up and the other behind it. Beaming, she waits for me to react.

“It’s an eyepatch.” I say. She frowns.

“No, dummy. I mean, yes, it’s an eyepatch. But who wears eyepatches?” She says. I stare dumbly. She frowns some more. Still sitting next to her, Ma’ mouths something at me.

“A...pilot? No, pirate?” I say, repeating what I think my mom was badly attempting to tell me.

“Oh thank god. Bro, you’re not as dumb as I thought you were.” She said, not noticing the wink Mama gave me.

Finally not bothering to fake any interest in the TV anymore, Ma’ pitched in “This girl made us spend all week going to every thrift shop to find you two the right costumes,” Mom hugged Isabel from behind and put her chin on Isabel’s shoulder.

“Mama! You’re squeezing the life out of me.” Isabel said, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“Oh hush,” Mama said and gave a Isabel a big kiss on her temple. Isabel scrunched her nose.

“So what’s the theme? We’re all going as pirates?” I asked.

“Ah, well pirate fits with the whole vibe you got right now,” She gestures to my hair. I started growing it out during the summer. It just reaches my chin now. Briggs always chastises me when he sees it. “But no. You’re the only pirate. You’ll have to wait and see what my costume is.”

Isabel takes out the rest of my costume, showing off each item. A satin scarf for the bandana that I was pretty sure was the one Ma’ sometime uses for her hair, a white shirt she must’ve thrifted, belts, and a couple other items. All of it stuff that could be worn after Halloween. I’d be very eclectic looking. Not my usual style.

“Uh, I think this is supposed to be in your bag,” I said, picking up a pair of fishnets and some shorts. Really short shorts. I couldn’t imagine Isabel picking it for herself or mom letting her wear them.

“Nope,” Isabel said sitting up and snatching one of the bags. “All yours!”

Before I can say anything, she runs up the stairs. Ma’ yells for her to be careful so she doesn’t end up like me.

Once Izzy is out of sight, Mom pushes herself off the couch. She goes over by me and sits on one of the recliner’s arm rests, turned so she’s looking me in the eye.

“Hey, thank you, for going with her this year despite, you know, your leg. Isabel told me you made some friends. Some good ones. I’m sure you’d rather just be with them.”

“Really, it’s fine. Isabel’s fun to be with. I’d probably just be in bed or something if she didn’t want to go with me.”

“You’re a good brother, you know that?” She cups my face with one of her hands. Her thumb strokes softly against my cheek. I tense up. It’s been a while since she’s gotten to treat me like her son in any way that involved motherly affection. A part of me, the self destructive part, wanted to push her hand away. Start an argument. But it was nice. I should let us have a nice moment.

“You know, It’s been nice having you around the house more. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like you even live here other than to sleep and do chores.”

And the moment is ruined. I move my face away from her touch. Maybe I’d be here more if it actually felt like a home, instead of a ticking time bomb.

I get up from the recliner, rejecting any help Ma’ offers. With a mumbled, “I’m going to go check on Izzy,” I slowly go up the stairs with my teeth gritted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve said this on a few places, except for, ironically, this fic: I’m pre writing chapters. That’s why it’s taking so long to update. That’s all! 
> 
> Also this was supposed to be a part of a longer chapter, but I figured I should share something since it’s been a while. Anyways, thanks for reading.


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